


Endless Wonder

by shamelessmash



Series: Endless Wonder [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Warehouse 13
Genre: Action/Adventure, Agent John, Agent Sherlock, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, BAMF John, Bickering, Case Fic, First Meetings, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, SoldierJohn, and mycroft is their boss, did I mention bickering?, forced to work together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3703651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamelessmash/pseuds/shamelessmash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode 1 : Endless Wonder</p><p>Captain John Watson goes on a mission with his Special Forces team when he encounters a man who puts the mission at risk and gets the soldier suspended. </p><p>Until a mysterious man with an umbrella shows up in his flat to offer him a job:<br/>“I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood; you got me suspended?”<br/>“Not exactly.”<br/>“With the paperwork I saw yesterday, suspension is exactly what it is.”<br/>“That’s just on paper.”</p><p>This is an 8 episode AU series where John is forced to work with Sherlock in a secret government warehouse as agents that retrieve new and missing supernatual objects.<br/>They will learn to work together as they survive the many dangers that come with their job as Warehouse Agents, whether it be the artifacts misbehaving, John's old team member coming back with a vengeance, or mysterious coded messages.<br/>This fic is action/adventure/sci-fi/humour until someone dies. Inevitable angst, but happy ending guaranteed.</p><p>*NO NEED TO KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT WAREHOUSE 13 TO READ THIS*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the long intro to the series, I invite you to read at least the first two paragraphs for the most important information, you can skip the rest.
> 
> *edit* Even though I am tempted to edit after having posted the episodes (good god I can't believe some of the common writing mistakes I did in the first episode) I am choosing not to in order to track my writing/editing progress throughout the series (I GETS BETTER I SWEAR). So if you find it annoying in the first episode, rest assured, the editing gets better from one fic to the next. (If you need a little convincing, go read If He Knows, it's 4k)
> 
> This is a Sherlock/Warehouse 13 AU but it's mostly me dropping John and Sherlock in the Warehouse univers. No need to know anything about either show's to read this. (though if you haven’t watched Sherlock you’re going to miss out on some crack references) If you enjoy this AU, I invite you to watch Warehouse 13, it's an awesome Scifi series with great characters. 
> 
> But where’s the porn? I hear you ask. I know, I know, I’m here for the porn too. But since I like to torture myself a bit, get ready for a slow burn. It is going to happen, that's the plan, but it's going to be interwoven with a lot of cases in order to get a good dose of pinning. And some other stuff which I will not get into because spoilers.
> 
> I can honestly say this series would not be possible without my wonderful beta’s Not-John-Watson and Best-url-of-all-time who helped and supported me greatly. And that's saying something cause I'm needy when I'm writing.  
> It wouldn’t be as good without their help and they deserve your kudos and comments as much as I do. (and go follow them on tumblr!)
> 
> I’d like to dedicate this to Lesternyygaarded. Hope this makes you smile. 
> 
> Special thanks to the wiki Warehouse 13 website, without that site I would have spent a lot more time doing artefact research.

**Episode 1: Endless Wonder**

**Undisclosed location  
Qatar**

Even with his earpiece, Captain John Watson could barely hear Talley, their commanding officer, over the roar of the plane engine. As soon as they were done going over the Intel for the infiltration mission, the special ops team would parachute out of the plane 20 miles away from the research facility. Once they hid their parachutes, they would take a truck that would be waiting for them to drive to the cliff overlooking the target area, approximately 2 miles south-east. From there, Talley would monitor them from the van, the rest would continue on foot to the south east corner of the building.

“Once you’re inside, we only have radio contact, I can’t hack into the camera feed or I get detected, I can only loop what’s appearing on the guards screen. Keep me posted on what’s happening. Rogers, you and Jones lead the way to the target. Watson and Neeson, you cover them. The target should be on sub level 2. The place is heavily guarded, so if you want any chance of getting out of there, you have to eliminate the target before someone calls for back up. This is an in and out job, it should go smoothly. We’ll have a chopper waiting for our signal to come in for a quick extraction. I’m taking care of the van. And remember, this mission is off the record. We were never here.” Talley finished.

“Ya shouldn’t have brought along Jones then.” Rogers teased.

“Yeah, Mr. Show Off needs an audience when he kills.” Neeson added.

“I can’t help it, when I move it’s like art.” Jones said, fiddling with his gun.

“Just make sure your head can still make it out the door alive.” Talley said, frowning at Jones’s attitude.

“If you want a smooth mission, you should put Watson in lead.” Neeson continued, clearly looking for a reaction from Jones. Watson kept a straight face at the comment, but couldn’t help his eyebrows rising a bit.

“Nobody’s smoother than me.” Jones defended himself. Neeson simply laughed, or at least that’s what Watson guessed, since he couldn’t actually hear the laugh.

“Actually you could learn a thing or two from Watson.” Rogers piped in, smiling at Jones then at Watson. Watson’s eyebrows rose a bit more as he nodded thanks to Rogers.

“What, playing nurse in the field?” Jones asked bitterly. Watson knew that Jones was only saying that because he was pissed, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to punch the prick. Neeson looked at Watson’s clenched fist. He knew that Watson wouldn’t punch him in the plane, but if Jones pushed more, he might have it coming once on the ground. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Like taking people out without killing them.” Talley cut in staring hard at Jones. “Now shut up and get ready, we’re nearly there. And remember: Don’t fuck up.” He said as the light above the latched door changed from red to green.

“Always the cheery bloke that Talley.” Joked Rogers as Talley opened the door.

“Rather that than having to split them up at 20 000 feet.” Neeson told Rogers who snorted a laugh. Neeson had always been amazed at how the team worked together. In the field they worked fine, had for years. But anywhere else and it was like any other dysfunctional family. He looked at Watson, silently asking if he was ok. Watson smiled and waved him to move along, not to worry about him. One after the other they jumped.

* * *

“Damn it, what happened to things going smoothly?!” Rogers screamed over the live fire.

“At least now you can’t say it was my fault!” Jones shouted back.

* * *

The route to enter had already been determined; Talley had taken care of the two cameras overlooking the south-east side of the building. They had cut the fence and hidden next to the industrial sized bins. Then they had waited for the rotating guards to pass, and had broken into the research facility through the door next to the loading dock. They barely needed to look at each other when they came in. The guard in the loading area was taken out and hidden swiftly. They proceeded to the stairs without a sound.

“We’re on the stairs going down towards target. Over” Jones said into the coms.

“Roger that. Proceed. Over.” Watson heard in his earpiece while looking up at the now hacked cameras in the stairwell.

All the stairs were next to elevators, so they met no one going down the two levels.

“Sub Level 2. Waiting for clearance. Over.” Rogers said.

“Standby. Over.”

Talley needed to put intermittent loops on the cameras. They couldn’t do the whole level at the same time or the buildings security system would detect the intrusion. Only 6 cameras at a time, for a maximum of 40 seconds.

“Clear. Over.” Talley said into the coms.

Neeson opened the door and in went Watson and Rogers, clearing left and right. Then Jones moved passed them and checked the first right corner. He pulled back quickly, seeing a guard at the next checkpoint, exactly where they were heading. Jones signalled the others silently.

“30 seconds.” Talley instructed in their ears.

Jones checked the corner again and added a silencer to his hand gun. He smiled at the team before walking out. He didn’t even take two steps that the guard was down.

“Guard down. Checkpoint. Over.” Jones called.

“Proceed. Over.” Talley answered.

The LED lights on the card reader flashed from red to green. Jones pushed open the door and stood aside to let the others pass with a smug face.

“Show off.” Neeson whispered when he passed him.

"25 seconds left in the corridor, take the first door on your left. Civilians inside. Over.”

“Roger. Over. Party’s about to start boys.” Jones said taking off his silencer. Rolling his eyes, Neeson placed himself to open the door for Rogers and Jones. Watson kept watch in the corridor until they went in.

“Ready. Over.” Rogers said on the coms, but he was looking at Jones. The LED changed to green and they walked in. The civilians in the lab didn’t scream, but as soon as they saw the four soldiers dressed in full combat gear with heavy artillery, they backed away from what they were doing.

“25 seconds before cameras are back online. Go to the door on the east side wall. Target inside. Over.” Neeson and Watson took care of the civilians while Jones and Rogers went to the door. Watson stayed next to them, huddle along the north side wall, with his gun towards the door on the west side wall. Neeson checked the room for hidden surprises. Jones smiled while he walked to the east door with Rogers.

“Room neutralized. We’re in position in front of the east door, Over.” Rogers called to Talley.

“Stand by. Over.” Smiling, Jones was on one side of the door, his gun ready. Rogers was on the other side, getting ready to open it and follow Jones. Neeson was crouched looking under work stations on the other side of the room when Watson couldn’t help but feel something was about to go terribly wrong. The LED over the key pad changed from red to green. Then the door exploded, quickly followed by the ring of the alarm system.

The civilians screamed and Watson was thrown to the floor by the force of the blast. With his ears ringing, he got up to go see if Jones and Rogers were ok. The dust settled enough so Watson to see them on the floor on either side of the door.

“Rogers! Jones!” Watson screamed, moving slowly towards them when shots were fired. “Shit!” He shouted, moving back to hide, shoving pieces of broken desks, plaster, even glass from the lab stations away from him. “Neeson.” Watson called on the coms, but he couldn’t hear an answer. He lifted his hand to his ear and realised he had lost his earpiece. He looked around, trying to find it while he called out. “Neeson!”

“Yeah?!” He screamed from the other side of the room. Watson felt a rush of relief. He wanted to see if Rogers and Jones were ok, but he knew they still had a mission to do.

“I lost my earpiece. Can you see the target?” Watson yelled.

“No, not from where I am. Stay with the civilians!”

“But you need cover.”

“We’ll do it.” Watson heard Rogers voice. He sounded strained, but still strong.

“Yeah, it’s not like a little bomb can take us out.” He heard Jones add.

“Thank god.” Watson breathed, relieved. He looked at the civilians when his team started firing back.

“Damn it, what happened to things going smoothly?!” Rogers screamed over the live fire.

“At least now you can’t say it was my fault!” Jones shouted back.

Watson couldn’t help but laugh. It’s what he loved about his team. Even in the worst situations, the most inappropriate times, they still laughed about it all. Watson took a moment to indulge in what he had chosen as his life. Yes, a somewhat solitary life, but still full of thrill. Something that made his blood pump, that made him feel alive, kept his instincts sharp. Something that made him feel useful. His eyes still on the civilians but with his attention on his adrenaline rush, it took the soldier a moment to notice a tall man in a lab coat with a mop of dark curly hair on his head move slowly toward the door on the west side wall. Instinct made Watson feint to check something on his rifle while surveying the man with his peripheral vision. Something was off. Something was definitely off. The man seemed to be using his phone, but was holding it next to the key pad. Was he trying to unlock it? Why wasn’t he just using his key card? No clearance. Then... Watson’s eyebrows shot up when the door opened and the man slipped out. He could feel his gut screaming to follow him. Before the door could close completely, he threw a big piece of desk into the opening, buying him time to follow the man. Watson looked at his team; they were still fighting back the offence. Rogers was pushing a storage cabinet, hoping to use it as cover to get closer to the target.

“Neeson!” Watson screamed. Neeson was the closest to him.

“What?” Neeson answered without looking back.

“Something’s off.”

“No shit!”

“No, I mean, look, gimme your earpiece.”

“What?”

“Throw me your earpiece. Now! Trust me.” Watson demanded his voice steady. Neeson looked at him gravely, knowing that he had always had a good reason to trust the man but this was odd, even for Watson.

“Fine.” Begrudgingly, Neeson took out his ear piece and threw it to Watson who quickly put it on and moved out to follow the man. Looking through the half open door leading into the corridor, he could see him standing in front of a checkpoint, holding his phone up towards the camera, then to the door. The LED changed to green and he passed through. Watson dashed to the checkpoint before it closed. The man was almost at the end of the corridor, his lab coat lying abandoned on the floor.

“Watson, where are you?” He heard Rogers ask in his ear. Watson didn’t answer; he didn’t want to be heard by the man he was following.

“Captain Watson, what are you doing?” He heard Talley ask in his commanding voice. The soldier ran to catch up, turning to the right at the corner and almost missing the closing door on his left. “Captain Watson, get back to the mission, that’s an order.” Watson lunged for it and managed to get through, barely taking notice of the “Restricted Area. Authorized Personnel only.” sign.

“Watson!” He heard Talley over the coms. “Where are you, we can’t see you, the system is on lock down ever since the alarm went off. Get back with the team. That’s an order!” Watson scanned quickly for the man, but he was nowhere to be seen. The room marked as restricted contained empty workstations. But there was a door at the far end of the room. He moved towards it silently while whispering into the coms.

“Following possible suspect. Moved north in the west corridor, turned left, and then took the first door on the left. Proceeding to intercept.” Before he could hear his commanding officer protest, he took the earpiece out so he could hear everything as he inched his way to the door. The man had to be in there, there was nowhere else to go. About six feet away from the door, Watson felt a hand grab the back of his vest and pull him back before a trap door opened exactly where he had been standing.

On instinct, the soldier broke free and spun around, aiming his gun at whoever had grabbed him. Some part of him was expecting a guard, but when he saw the tall dark-haired man he had been following, he was taken aback. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and tailored trousers and completely ignoring the gun being pointed at his chest. He was looking at the trap door and what seemed like a deep pit. Watson noted he hadn’t heard him come up behind him. His instinct was screaming at him that this man wasn’t a civilian, far from it.

“Who are you?” The Captain demanded. Pale eyes flicked from the pit to the soldier. He scrutinized every inch of him, which was starting to make him uncomfortable.

“A doctor.” The man said softly, sounding more like a grumble with his low voice.

“Why would they send a doctor to do a soldier’s job?” He asked, his voice filled with exasperation, but his expression was curious, as if searching for an answer simply by staring at him. Watson was about to ask the man what he was doing here, but his brain slammed the breaks and replayed what he had just heard.

“How- how did you know I’m a doctor?”

“The same way I know about your drinking. Now stop pointing that at me, we don’t have much time.” The man said as he looked around the room. Watson kept his gun aimed at his chest, unmoving but struggling with what he was hearing.

“Identify yourself.”

“Do you always threaten the people who save your life?”

“I said: identify yourself.”

“This is tedious; I’m not a threat, stop pointing that at me and let me work.” The man said as he brushed aside Watson’s gun, which resulted in having that hand twisted behind his back then directed to kneel down on the floor as Watson took out tie wraps to tie the man’s hands.

“I save your life and this is how you repay me? You’re a doctor, you should have a minimal amount of brain function to understand that when someone saves your life they aren’t a threat.” Tall and dark said, insulted. Watson couldn’t believe what he was dealing with. As if he would just let him do whatever the hell he was about to do. It was clear he was using the explosion as a distraction to take care of a personal agenda.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“The more interesting question is how did I know about the trap door?” The arrogant man answered. Watson couldn’t help but ponder at his hostage’s words. He remembered the lab coat from earlier. If he was an employee, there was a chance he would know. But how could he know he really was an employee.

“How-“ He was about to ask when the man started struggling.

“You wouldn’t understand even if I explained. Now would you untie me!?” Watson pressed his knee harder into the man’s back.

“Try me.” Watson said as he searched the man. He came up with what looked like a mobile, though not a model he had seen before, sealable plastic bags and what seemed to be a large pocket watch. He pocketed the items, despite the man’s protests, and put his earpiece back on. “Suspect neutralized in a room north of where we were attacked. Moving back to the team with suspect. Over.”

“Suspect. Dear god, I’m surrounded by idiots.” The man scuffed.

“Copy that. Nice work Watson. Still an asshole for bailing, but nice work. Over.” Rogers answered in the com. Watson smiled.

“When someone refuses to identify themselves, I call that suspicious. Hence suspect.” He told the man before answering Rogers. “I didn’t bail; I knew you could take care of yourself. Over.”

“Whatever, get your arse back here before Jones messes up. Over.” Rogers answered. Then Watson heard a bit of a scuffle over the coms.

“I’m not a threat; I’m the opposite of a threat.” The man repeated, sounding more and more like an overgrown child.

“How could I possibly know that if you refuse to identify yourself?” Watson asked.

“For many obvious reasons, but If I must choose one, I’d say that if I had wanted to kill you, I would have let you fall into that pit.”

“Right.” The soldier hesitated a second before taking his knee off him. He knew the man was right. He couldn’t say why exactly, but he knew. Watson stood back, his weapon ready, as the man twisted around, struggling to sit up. “So either you answer me now, or you wait until you’re in a locked room. So I’m going to ask one last time. Who are you and what were you planning on doing?” His voice was almost pleasant, friendly even. But the commanding undertone was present. The man stared at Watson. Watson stared back. When he was about to lose patience and head back to the team, the door they came in opened and in walked two guards. Without thinking, the soldier grabbed the man and pulled them to cover behind one of the work stations before bullets rained on them.

“Fuck!” Watson cursed, pushing the man aside and turning towards the guards to shoot back. “Rogers, two guards just came in. I’m going to be fashionably late. Over.” He heard Rogers swear under his breath before answering.

“Just get back to rendezvous with the suspect. Don’t you fucking miss that chopper. Over.” Talley intervened in the coms.

“Copy that. I’ll be there. Over.” Watson said before turning back to the man, which he found with his knife untying his hands.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He said, taking his knife back.

“We could get out of here much faster if you stopped tying me up and pointing your gun at me.”

“Shut up or you’ll get a gag.” Watson said as he took out another tie wrap.

“Why must you tie me up? It won’t change anything.” The man asked. Watson closed his eyes, already regretting his next question. He knew he shouldn’t talk to him, but he couldn’t help it. Like the scratch on the roof of your mouth that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it, but you can't.

“What do you mean?”

“Even with my hands tied, I’m going to break into that room, take what I came here for and get out of the building alive.” Watson chose to ignore his claim and the fact that he was finding this man more entertaining than he should. He barely finished tying his hands in front of him when the guards started shooting again, and they were closer.

“Right. When I’m done with them,” He said as he pointed the guards, “you’re getting a gag, Houdini.” He said as he shot back

“God this is so tedious. Alright fine. In that room is a dangerous artefact that, in the wrong hands, can kill hundreds. I cannot leave without it. The fate of the world depends on it.” Watson had trouble processing all the information the man had just sped out of his mouth. Questions flooded his brain, mainly about the man’s sanity, but they were short of time so he went to the essential.

“The fate of the world, huh? I’m getting shot at because of a nutter who fancies himself a magician. I’m definitely getting suspended when this is over.” Watson rubbed his face with his hand. Well, if he was already in trouble, might as well humour him, even if he was crazy. “And how do I know you’re not, as you say, the wrong hands? What are you going to do with it?” Watson asked, even though most of his attention was on the guards. He knew that they were very close now.

“I’m taking it to store safely where it won’t hurt anyone. Give me 2 minutes to break in and get it, then I can help you get out safely.” Before Watson could answer, the guards started firing again.

“We don’t have two minutes!” Watson answered as he shot back.

“Oh for god’s sake, there must be some reason they put a doctor in an elite task force. Shoot the guards!” The man spat impatiently at the soldier, his tone dripping with condescension. The soldiers blue eyes darkened before he squared his jaw. He checked the threat again before slipping his arm around and firing.

Silence reined, all but the sound of two bodies falling to the ground.

John popped his charger and replaced it before turning to the man with a look that could send a chill down the back of any enemy. The Captain waited for him to add something. The man was staring at him even harder than before. Getting up and straightening his spine, Watson looked down at the man when he spoke.

“Now. Give me one good reason why I should even consider letting you grab what you came here for.” He wasn’t prepared for the man to smile.

“You mean besides the fact that it will protect the world?” The man answered, holding the soldier’s stare. “I saved your life.” The man said smugly. Watson hated himself for being so honorable. He considered his options before speaking. It was much simpler to go back, but this man didn’t look like he would leave without a fight, even if he was tied up. And he wasn’t up to learning the man’s training the hard way. Watson could knock him out and carry him back, but that would slow him down considerably and put him in danger of missing the chopper. He stared at the man sternly before speaking.

“If I let you do this, and that’s a big if, you do it with your hands tied. You have two minutes. I keep the artefact, and I take you back to HQ.” The man was about to say something when Watson added “This is not a negotiation. You said it yourself Houdini, you can do everything with your hands tied.” The man looked at Watson intently before silently nodding his consent. “Right then. You have two minutes and we have a chopper waiting. Oh and you try anything, you get the gag.” The man rolled his eyes as he stood up.

“I need my phone. And the barometer.” He said as he held out his hands. Watson hesitated. “I won’t do it in 2 minutes if you don’t give me my tools.” He insisted. Watson begrudgingly gave the items back. He put the barometer in his trouser pocket then tapped at his phone. He put it next to the key pad and within seconds the LED changed green and the automatic door slid open. They walked in a small room filled with a desk, bookshelves, and sort of containment field with a small glass jar with a wooden spinning top rotating inside it.

"What is that? A Dreidel?"

"Not every wooden object you can spin is a dredel. It's called a spinning top."

"Why is it spinning by itself?" The soldier inquired but was ignored."

"Take out a bag and keep it open for me.” The man said. Still keeping an eye on the exit route, Watson took out a bag and held it open as he watched him struggle to put on the heavy medical grade glove over both his hands and take the glass jar. How the hell could that be a possible threat to mankind? And how does it keep spinning like that?

“Try not to look directly at it.” Was the only warning Watson heard before the man dropped the jar into the bag, causing a flash of light and some sort of electrical charge.

“What the fuck was that?” Watson said as he looked at the contents of the bag he held suspiciously.

“Neutralizer.” The man answered as the sealed the bag. Watson kept looking at him, finding himself amused that the man considered that an answer.

“Let’s go.” Watson said as he safely put the bag away between his vest and him shirt, trying not to think of the risk of it being so close to his major organs. They walked back into the other room, the man leading so he could keep his eyes on him. He wouldn’t get another chance to pickpocket. Watson stopped to search the two security guards he had taken out earlier. As he took away their weapons, Watson at least took comfort that this mentally disabled man wasn’t carrying a weapon.

“So, you said you could get us out of here.”

“If you understood the first time, why are you asking the question?”

“For all I know, you could be making me walk into a trap.”

“Says the man who walked into a trap all by himself.”

“Point taken. But you have a key card, why aren’t you just walking out the door?”

“Really now, doesn’t the government train you at all? The building is on lockdown. Do you need me to explain what lockdown means? Here I thought doctors needed at least a minimal amount of intelligence to get their license. Or has all of that military training knocked out all capacity to think?” Watson’s fist itched to punch the man. Repeatedly. But that would slow them down, so he took a deep breath and answered.

“Then get us out of here.” The man rolled his eyes and walked up to the door that leads to the corridor.

“Where did you and your team come in?” he asked as he approached his phone to the keypad.

“South east corner, cut through the fence.” The tall man tapped on his phone, his eyes narrowed. Watson could see his brain working. He silently hoped that his gamble to follow the man wouldn’t be fatal.

The LED on the key pad turned green.

“This way.” The man said as he pushed through the door.

“What have I gotten myself into?” Watson muttered under his breath, right behind the tall man. They headed left down the corridor, silently hoping not to meet any more guards. The man made quick work of the checkpoint. They ran straight to the doors that lead to the stairs. Lucky for them, there was no keypad needed to enter the stairs. They ran two floors up. Watson couldn’t believe it when an emergency exit was waiting for them on ground level in the stairwell. The team must be giving the guards a run for their money if they didn’t meet anyone on their way out. Before he knew it, they were running outside, ducking for cover by the bins. Watson could see that the chopper hadn’t been called yet. Checking behind them to see if they had been followed, the soldier leaned against the container, catching his breath. He always loved the sensation of the adrenaline rush during a mission. He could feel a grin pulling at his lips.

“Rogers this is Watson. I’m at rendezvous with the suspect. Waiting for your slow asses. Over.” He said looking back towards the man, only to find no one. “What the fuck?” Watson’s head flipped around looking with the man he was holding captive, his panic rising slowly. “Fuck!” He lifted his hand to his chest and felt that the artefact was gone. “Shit. Shit shit shit!”

“Watson? You ok?” Talley asked in his ear.

“Watson!” Rogers’s voice came from behind him. Watson turned around slowly, not knowing what to say. “Chopper should arrive any second. You ok? You sounded odd on the coms.” The soldier frowned. He hadn’t even heard them call the chopper.

“Where’s the sneaky bastard?” Jones asked smiling as he came up to Watson, still stunned and pissed at what had happened. The Captain braced himself for what he was about to say.

“He’s gone.” He admitted, facing Rogers who had stopped moving.

“Come again?” Jones insisted, his smile faltering.

“He’s gone. I don’t understand, he was right next to me, a moment ago, I looked back to see if you were coming as I was talking into the coms, then when I looked back he was gone and he took the artefact. How the hell did he take it without me seeing him? When did he even have the time? I don’t, it doesn’t make any sense!” Watson was looking around for something he had missed.

“Watson.” Rogers said to get his attention. They stared at each other. Rogers was worried about the consequences for his teammate. He was even more worried when he saw Watson. They had gone through many things in their years together, but he had never seen that look on his face. Anger he recognized, but at that moment, he seemed lost. He really had no idea what had happened. But there was nothing he could do to help. Not until they got back.

“We’ll talk more back at HQ.” Rogers answered as he heard the chopper approach.

* * *

“So let me get this straight.”

John rubbed his face with his hands while the special agent was looking at his deposition. He had been in this room for over three hours now and was getting more and more aggravated at the situation. He knew he would be in trouble for getting sidetracked in the mission and loosing the suspect, but this was just ridiculous. He was the third person to whom he had told the events of the mission and was having trouble understanding how repeating it again and again to anyone that showed up was going to change what had happened.

The agent closed the file, tossed it lightly onto the metal table between them. He looked at the soldier a moment before speaking.

“You got out of the building on the north exit of the east side wall. You were following the man on foot to the rendezvous point. You hid behind the bins to wait for the team, you looked back at the building to check no one was following you, and then radioed in. When you turned back, the suspect was gone.” Watson was doing his best to look at the man as he repeated the story again, but it just made him angrier every time he heard it. He just disappeared. It didn’t make any sense. “He also took the “artefact”” the man added. Watson just nodded. “What does this artefact do?”

“No idea.”

“Then how is it a threat to the world?”

“I don’t know.” He repeated again, his fists clenched. He closed his eyes a moment to get his temper under control before continuing. “That’s why I was trying to bring it back here, with the man who can give us some kind of explanation of what it is. That is, hoping that this guy wasn’t out of his mind.”

“The man who then mysteriously disappeared.” He bit the inside of his cheek before answering.

“Yes.”

“Even though he was tied and under your surveillance.”

“I looked away for maximum 10 seconds; he never could have gotten far without help in so little time.” The agent looked at Watson with a sceptical look. “How could I know he’s fucking Houdini?”

“When did you radio that you had arrived at rendez-vous?”

“As soon as we were hidden.”

“What did you say?”

“What I said? Why?”

“Answer the question.”

“I said I was at rendez-vous, waiting for their lazy asses.”

“How many times did you radio in when you arrived?”

“Once. Why are you asking, you have the recording?”

“What did he have on him?” Watson suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He knew the interrogation technique. Asking the same question repeatedly in the hopes of having the suspect slip up in his made up story.

“A mobile, a plastic bag, and a barometer.”

“A barometer?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Describe it to me.”

“It looked like a pocket watch only bigger.”

“Did you see him use it?”

“No, he just slipped it in his pocket.”

“So you searched him, took the three items, and gave them back.”

“He said he needed his phone and the barometer to get us out.”

“Did he use the barometer?” John paused, thinking over the implications of the man’s question.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“So you don’t know what it does?”

“What do you mean?” Watson asked. It’s a barometer, it measures atmospheric pressure, and he wouldn’t need to see the man use it to know what it does. He looked intently at the agent. “What does it do beside measure atmospheric pressure?” The agent squirmed in his seat and refused to look directly at Watson. He took the case file and stood up, straitening his suit.

“Shouldn’t be long now.” He said before walking to the door and waiting for the buzz before opening it to leave.

What the fuck? Wondered Watson as his eyes travelled from the door to the one way mirror in front of him. He raised an eyebrow at the mirror, knowing he was being watched.

It was only a question of time now before they released him. They had nothing suspicious on him, he was only guilty of ending up in the middle of a suspicious situation. Well, he had followed the man. Watson buried his face into his hands. It wasn’t what he would call one of his best instincts. That bastard. And what about this barometer? And why hadn’t he asked the man why he needed it? Why a barometer? Did it have to do with the artefact? That thing in a jar? How the hell could that thing be dangerous?

The lock on the door clicked loudly in the room, pulling Watson out of his head. A guard came in, uncuffed him and lead him to Talley. Watson had barely put a foot in the office when the CO was on his feet.

“Watson-“ But he got cut off.

“Why did they keep me in there so long? What’s going on?”

“Who the hell was that man?” Talley asked, but Watson was so sick of talking about the man.

“Don’t. Just. Don’t.” He answered as he started pacing, rubbing his forehead with his palm.

“There’s more.”

“What?” Talley took a moment before speaking.

“You’re suspended.” Watson spun around, shock painted on his face.

“What!? Why?”

“For abandoning the team, John. You took a rash decision. This isn’t like you.”

“I didn’t abandon them! I knew they would be fine.”

“John, the door exploded, you were being shot at, and you decided to run after a civilian.”

“He wasn’t a civilian! No civilian does what he did! The bastard was incredible, he was...” Watson stopped moving when he heard what he had just said. He turned to look at Talley and explain what he meant.”I mean, he, look, I don’t know how to explain it. Something just seemed so off. Like he was waiting for us in there. Waiting for a distraction to sneak off and get something. And I was right. I kept radio contact with you, we got out all right, without a hitch. He just... He knew where to go, he was clearly experienced. And he had his hands tied the whole time! We get to rendez-vous, and just as I turn around to check the exits, he’s gone. Who can do that? It’s impossible. Fuck!” His fist slammed against the desk, rattling the clutter on it. He closed his eyes to breathe through his nose, but he couldn’t get his anger under control.

“John, calm down, we aren’t suppose to talk about that mission, it’s off the record, remember.”

“Off the record, my arse.”

“Look, it’s only temporary.”

“How long?”

“Undetermined.”

“Oh fuck that.” The soldier said as he stood up.

“John.”

“Here. Here.” He punctuated as he put his ID, gun and charger on the desk. “There. I’m gone.” He did a quick salute and turned towards the door.

“Watson.” He stopped, recognizing the commanding officer’s tone. “I’ll call you, alright?”

Still facing the door, he nodded and left.

* * *

An official Jeep was waiting for him outside of headquarters to take him to the airport and back home. The whole time he replayed the events in his head. It infuriated him. And who was that man? He still couldn’t get over the fact that he had escaped.

The prick.

What was he suppose to do now? Indefinite suspension. How was he supposed to occupy himself all day? It’s not like he had anyone to call. Harry had decided he was as well as dead when he had told her he was going into Special Forces in the army. She hated him when he enlisted. But this, to her, was like a death wish. It didn’t help that he told her at their mother’s funeral. So instead of worrying herself to death, he was already dead to her. At least that had been what she said after slapping him and leaving without ever speaking to him again. Maybe tomorrow he can find a way to expedite his reinstatement. The sooner the better. He closed his eyes, breathed slowly through his nose. Bullshit. All of it.

Watson took the liberty of being off duty on a government paid flight to knock back a few whiskeys. Enough to fall asleep the last three hours of the flight. He woke to a hand shaking his shoulder, which he grabbed by instinct. He opened his eyes to a frightened stewardess. He apologized profusely before grabbing his duffle and leaving quietly.

Not having anything other than his duffle with him, before long, he stepped outside and couldn’t help but smile. It was great to be back in London. He eyed the busses before opting for a cab. Didn’t feel like riding in a crowded and confined space for an hour. It was nice to be back. Maybe he should just go to the gym to blow off some steam. Imagine someone’s face on a punching bag.

Paying the cab driver, Watson stepped out and looked up at his building. Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he sighed before letting himself in. He walked up the stairs to his small empty flat. He had been gone 8 months; the place must smell of dust. The entrance led directly into the living room where he had a small desk, a sitting chair and his bed. It was separated from the kitchen only by the floor that went from hard wood to ceramic and the independent ceiling lights. The bathroom was on the opposite on the entrance.

Dropping his bag next to the door, he walked directly to the kitchen without turning on the lights, pressing play on his answering machine as he walked past it to listen to his messages as he looked sceptically into the contents of the refrigerator.

“Watson, it’s Neeson. Listen, I’m really sorry for what happened, there’s no reason for you to get suspended for this. I mean, you sounded weird on the coms, but suspended? It’s... Shit, I don’t know. Just... Just call me when you get this.” Mustard, water bottles, baking soda and shit, no milk. Closing the door he headed straight for his stash of whiskey in the cupboard as he listened to the next message.

“Captain Watson. Turn on the light, we need to talk.”

Watson stopped moving. Leaving the bottle in the cupboard, he reached over to the light switch by the refrigerator and turned around. Standing in the living room between Watson and the entrance door was a tall man wearing a three piece suit and holding an umbrella at his side. Behind him was a beautiful woman with dark hair dressed in a suit comparable to the man, tapping away on her phone, completely oblivious of his presence.

After a small silence where they both eyed each other, the man spoke.

“Good evening, Captain Watson.”

“Evening.” Watson knew there was a fair chance that this man outranked him and that he should be calling him sir, out of respect. But seeing as this man was neglecting to identify himself after breaking into his home, to be quite honest, he couldn’t care less. “Who are you? How'd you even get in here?” The man simply gave him an insincere smile.

“We have questions regarding your last mission.”

“We?” He had had enough of mystery people for one day. Seeing as the man wasn’t going to clarify more, Watson

continued. “Call HQ, they’ll send you a copy of my statement. I’ve repeated myself enough today.”

“You don’t seem very threatened by my presence Captain.”

“Not very no.”

“I'm with the government.”

“It would help if I knew who you are.”

“I’m afraid that’s confidential.”

John snorted at the answer. “Of course it bloody is.”

“As I said, we have questions regarding your last mission.” The man repeated. Watson rolled his eyes.

“I’ve already said everything. I’m suspended. So either you reinstate me or leave.” Watson started to walk towards his room, not caring to watch them leave, when the man spoke.

“If you want even the slightest chance of being reinstated, Captain, I suggest you listen to what I have to say.” Watson stopped and turned slowly towards him, his blood pumping with controlled rage at what he had just heard.

“Is that a threat?” The soldier asked, amused as he stared at the man.

“Would you like to find out?” He offered softly, but his eyes showed ruthlessness. They stood there staring at each other, until Watson nodded. He couldn’t stand not being in the field. The man signalled the tapping woman who stepped forward and handed Watson a large envelope marked confidential on it. Watson looked from the man to the woman handing him the envelope, still tapping away at her phone with her free hand. “Read it. Please note the action code. It is legitimate. We have questions concerning your last mission. It is a matter of national security. Now, come to these coordinates tomorrow. You will mention our meeting to no one. Is that understood?” Biting the inside of his cheek, Watson nodded. The man tapped his umbrella on the floor, a smug look on his face. He opened the envelope and as he saw the coordinates, frowned.

“Where the hell is this anyway?” He asked as he looked up towards the man only to find that they had both disappeared. “Oh come on! Not again!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed :D


	2. The offer

John woke up on his bed, still dressed. His head was pounding as he turned onto his back, knocking the empty whiskey bottle off the bed onto the floor. He opened his eyes and regretted it immediately, blinded by the light spilling through the curtains. Grunting, he crawled out of bed and made his way blindly to the bathroom.

  
Still wet from his shower, he walked into to the kitchen. His forehead rested against the cupboard door, his wet hair sticking to it, as he waited for the kettle to boil, dressed in a jumper and jeans that hung loosely off his hips. The cold tiles of the kitchen floor beneath his bare feet helped him concentrate on something other than his dulling headache.

  
Walking to the couch with his tea cup, he pushed the remains from last night onto the floor and sat heavily.

  
It was too quiet.

  
Watson was a man who appreciated simple things. He did appreciate some quiet, especially when his head was pounding. But not this kind of quiet. This was stillness.

  
He loathed being home. Being home on leave wasn’t so bad, since it was like pressing pause during a movie. But a suspension. A suspension meant there was no movie to pause. There was just an empty screen.

  
Nothing happens to me, he thought as he closed his eyes.

  
He took a deep breath and opened them. They focused on the envelope.

  
That was when John remembered he had an appointment with a man he hoped never to have anything to do with after this.

* * *

Still groggy from his hangover, Watson got out of a cab in front of the building that the coordinates had pointed to. Standing on the sidewalk, he looked up at the off white columns on each side of the entrance, contrasting with the dark metal protecting the main wooden doors. He looked around, wondering why the hell he would be summoned here. This was nothing like the government buildings he had seen before.

  
The doors opened and out walked an aged man in a three piece suit. Watson took the opportunity to step inside. At which point he felt extremely underdressed.

  
He had no idea from what century the decor was, but judging by the hard wooden walls, plush carpeting and moldings on the ceiling, this place was posh.

  
The butler took one look at him and picked up the old rotary phone on the podium.

  
“He’s here.” Was all Watson heard him say before he hung up, bowed and left. Watson began to wonder why a secret branch of the government would be in this particular place and what it could possibly have to do with his suspension. The woman that appeared in his flat with the man who told him to come here walked in the foyer entrance. Her attention was still on her phone. She didn’t look up when she told him to follow her. She led him through the hall to a large bureau where she instructed him to sit down in one of the two dark red leather chairs facing each other, a steaming pot of tea and biscuits on the table between them. He looked around the room, deciding he could at least enjoy it while it lasted.

  
But what did this have to do with his mission in Qatar?

  
He finally sat down, lifting his gaze to the woman only to find she had left. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge at the disappearing act. His instinct was usually so on point about his surroundings. Having the man disappear in Qatar, people appearing and disappearing in his flat, then this. Maybe something was off. Maybe some time off wasn’t such a bad idea.

  
He inwardly cringed at the mere thought, but then, what the hell was wrong with him?

  
“Good day Captain Watson.” Watson heard a smooth voice from his right. Ok, now this was just getting out of hand. How could he have appeared like that? He should have heard him!

  
Watson composed himself before speaking.

  
“Good day. Still haven’t caught your name.”

  
“And I prefer it that way for now.” Watson felt his temper flare up at the secrecy, but before he could indulge his anger, the man continued speaking. “Would you like some tea and biscuits?” The man said with a quaint smile. Watson couldn’t help but look at him with disbelief. The stare that was returned brought back the memory of the threat. Taking a deep breath, Watson put his temper in check and let the man play whatever little etiquette game he wanted to play.

  
“Yes, thank you.” Watson answered as nicely as he could.

  
“I’m happy you decided to come and speak with me Captain Watson. I wouldn’t want you to think of your suspension as a punishment. Your presence here isn’t a reaction to what happened in Qatar.” The man said as he served them tea.

  
“I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood; you got me suspended?”

  
“Not exactly.”

  
“With the paperwork I saw yesterday, suspension is exactly what it is.”

  
“That’s just on paper.”

  
“But yesterday you said if I came here and spoke with you, you could get me reinstated.”  
“Correct. I just didn’t specify where you could be reinstated. I’m here to make you an offer.” Watson took a moment to consider his choice of words.

  
“Which is?”

  
“I have a position to fill, and you seem to fit the bill nicely.”

  
“Bit dramatic, don’t you think? Going through all this just to offer me a job?” He said. The man put down his teacup and picked up a file he opened to look at before speaking.

  
“Captain John Hamish Watson of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers. Born in 1980. Sister named Harry, short for Harriet. Father worked as a miner. Died in a work accident in 1992. Mother died in 1995 during your senior year. You took care of your sister until you decided to follow your dream of becoming a medical doctor, and to afford it you enrolled in the army. Estranged relationship to sibling since then. You passed your medical school years with flying colours, becoming a surgeon as well as an expert shooter, sniper and close combat fighter. Spent three years in Kandahar, two years in Israel, until you were recruited by the Special Forces with whom you’ve been for the past four years.”

  
Watson sat there sipping his tea, waiting patiently for this man to finish up with what could be considered as a display of power, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

  
“If I knew you were going to tell me my life story I would have brought along the photo album.” Watson said as he put down his tea cup.

  
“You shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened in Taiwan.” Watson’s eyes shot up. He sat forward in his seat.

  
“How could you possibly know about that?” He asked, his voice on the edge of threatening. The man smiled benevolently.

  
“We have our ways. Tell me the events of your last mission.” Watson sat back into the posh chair, taking a moment to consider how to deal with this.

  
“Clearly, you already know everything that happened during my last mission.” At this point, he wasn’t going to give in so easily, no matter what threat.

  
The man smiled tightly before speaking. “I would like to hear it in your words.” Watson couldn’t help the what spilled out.

  
“No. I’ve repeated myself enough. You’ve read the file, probably even seen the interrogation video.” He did his best to keep his anger in check. “With all due respect, sir, I’m not going through the whole story again for your entertainment. Ask me what you want to know. God forbid one of us should answer the other’s questions.” Watson finished before taking a sip of his tea, ignoring the stare he was receiving. They sat silently. Watson put down his cup and watched the man consider his next move.

  
“The man you followed. Describe him.” Watson’s laugh sounded loudly in the quiet room.

  
“I should have known this was about him.” That fucker, he added in his head. His interrogator kept his face blank, waiting for an answer. “About 6 feet, I’d say 190 pounds, dark hair, curly, blue eyes, maybe gray, cheekbones, pretty sure he was wearing a suit only he had the lab coat on instead of the jacket. Bit of a prick.”

  
“Why did you follow him?”

  
“I saw him using his phone to open the door. If he worked there, he should have used his key card. He was after something.”

  
“What makes you think he wasn’t just trying to save himself?”

  
“I’ve seen civilians in the middle of live fire before. Some are brave, but you can see in their eyes that they’re scared. He wasn’t.”

  
“Could have been a coincidence.”

  
“Maybe. But I’ve seen enough to know not to take any chances.”

  
“Why did you help him?”

  
“Help him? I didn’t help him.” John said. The man smiled at him.

  
“You protected him from the guards, let him break into a highly secure laboratory to take an artefact then helped him escape.”

  
“I followed a suspect and protected him from the guards so I had a suspect to bring back. I got the artefact to bring back as well. That and he said he wouldn’t leave without it, so given the situation it was faster to take it and get out.” And it had taken him barely two minutes with his hands tied, the brilliant bastard. He inwardly cringed when he realised it was the second time he’d complemented him. “Then I used him to get us out quickly so we wouldn’t miss the helicopter.”

  
“You used _him_ to get you out?” John saw the man smile as he spoke his question.

  
“He seemed to know the premises well and got us out by a faster route than if we had gone back the same way I came in with the team.”

  
“What did he have on him?” Watson sighed. From one question to the next.

  
“His phone, a sealable plastic bag and a pocket watch. No, a barometer he said.”

  
“And what was the artefact?” Watson took a moment before answering. Even he knew he sounded crazy when he described it. The look the first interrogating agent had given him...

  
“A wooden spinning top in a glass jar.” John waited for a reaction but got none as the man continued.

  
“What did he do with it?”

  
“Nothing. He just took the jar and put it in the plastic bag, which sparked, sealed it, and I took it to put between me and my vest.”

  
“When did he take it from you?”

  
“I-” Watson hesitated. Even after turning it in his head again and again he just couldn’t figure out when he could have taken it. “I don’t know. I just turned around and he was gone and I didn’t have it anymore. It doesn’t make sense. It’s like he froze time.”

  
“What did he use to get you out of the research facility?”

“His mobile. Well, a model I’ve never seen before but I’m pretty sure it was his mobile.”

  
“Then why did you give him the barometer?”

  
“The- the barometer? What is it with that barometer? What does it do? Why are you asking about it?”

He smiled again, which gave Watson the urge to punch it off.

  
“Have you ever heard of a location called Warehouse 13?”

  
“Warehouse 13?” Why did they just jump from the barometer to a warehouse? The man made less and less sense. “No, not to my recollection.”

  
“Good.”

  
“What does that have to do with anything?”

  
“Everything.” The man eyes gleamed. John looked around before asking.

  
“Would you mind explaining what the hell is going on? I’ve just had about enough of your level of secrecy.”

  
“As I said before, I’m offering you a job.”

  
“Doing what?”

  
“Working at the Warehouse.”

  
“What? Doing inventory? Is this a joke?”

  
“Do I look like a joke?”

  
“Have you seen your umbrella?” The man’s eyes widened before he lifted up his chin with a look like he had smelled something foul. Watson did his best to keep his face neutral as he spoke. “You want me to work at a warehouse?”

  
The man pursed his lips before speaking. “Not a warehouse, The Warehouse. Warehouse 13. I want to introduce you to a new world.” Watson smiled at what he was hearing. It sounded so ridiculous, he just had to hear the whole thing.

  
“Yeah? What kind of world?”

  
“A world of endless wonder.”

  
“Could you sound a little _more_ cryptic?” He just wasn’t buying it. With everything that was going on, Watson suspected he must have hit his head in the explosion and have been in a coma dreaming this ever since.

  
“Captain Watson, have you ever heard of the great fire of London in 1666?” The man asked, bringing Watson out of his thoughts.

  
“Yes, of course.”

  
“And do you know what caused it?” He asked. Watson tilted his head slightly, trying to remember what he knew about it through all of the confusing information the man had told him.

  
“The fire started from a lantern that fell in a bakery and spread to the other houses because of the strong winds and dry temperature. What’s that got to do with endless wonder?”

  
“That’s the official story. The story we tell the population in order to keep them safe.” The man answered before sipping his tea with a malicious look. Watson eyebrow lifted at the mention of danger.

  
“What really happened then?”

  
“Do you know who Catherine O’leary is?”

  
Was there no way to get a straight answer out of this man? Watson thought before answering drily.

“No.”

  
“She was an Irish immigrant living in Chicago Illinois in 1879 who became famous for an incident involving a cow she was milking that kicked a lamp that started the Great Chicago Fire.”

  
“What does an Irish immigrant starting a fire in 1879 have to do with the great London fire in 1666?” The man straightened his cuffs smugly before answering.

  
“She didn’t start it. The cowbell did. It causes the surrounding area to erupt in a violent firestorm when rung. Where the bell comes from is unclear, but it was knocked on the door of the bakery in London 1666, and rung again in Chicago 1879. We finally got our hands on it a couple of years ago in North Dakota after the pawn shop it was sold to exploded. We call it Catherine O’leary’s Cow Bell because we don’t have the name of the bakery and nothing on it before that incident.”

  
Holding his teacup mid air, Watson stared at the man while his mind processed what he had just been told.

“That. That’s what happened?”

  
“You see why the truth isn’t always best.” The man answered with a smile and looked down at the teacup still held in mid air. Watson looked down and moved to put down his cup and saucer. As he sat back and looked at the man again, he still couldn’t believe it.

  
“You’re serious.” Watson stated again. The man leaned forward before speaking.

  
“Very.”

  
A cow bell that starts fires. The spinning top from Qatar didn’t seem all that weird right now.  
“And what did you do with it?”

  
“It’s safely stored in the Warehouse.”

  
Watson’s mind struggled to picture it.

  
“So it’s a Warehouse filled with dangerous objects.”

  
“We call them artefacts.”

  
A Warehouse filled with dangerous artefacts. Watson just couldn’t get his head around it. This was all too absurd.

  
“You really are serious.”

  
“Yes. Now, as a Warehouse agent-” Only Watson cut him off.

  
“Wait, this is the job you’re offering me?”

  
“Yes. To be a Warehouse agent.”

  
“A Warehouse agent? Me?”

  
“Did I stutter?” The man stared at Watson.

  
“No. Sir.” He decided to add but it felt wrong rolling off his tongue. “But I just-” This time Watson was interrupted.

  
“As I was saying, as a Warehouse agent, you investigate artefact cases, find them, neutralize them and bring them back to the Warehouse.”

  
“As simple as that?”

  
Listening to the job description, it sounded so easy, so boring. But Watson could feel it was more than that, and the story about the cowbell confirmed it.

  
“Well, it can get bumpy along the way. But seeing your file, I don’t think you should mind.” The man smiled a knowing smile as he looked at the medical soldier. The memories of missions with the Special Forces raced through his brain. A bumpy ride was exactly what he was looking for. No, he had it already, only now he was suspended. He needed to find a way back to his team or he was going to go insane.

  
But this. This was something else. As much as he was sure it was all a joke or a dream, he couldn’t help feeling that there was a reason he was here.

  
“What’s the catch?”

  
“Follow me.” The man stood up and tied his suit jacket.

  
“No. Tell me.” The man ignored Watson’s protest and walked over to the fireplace to press a hidden switch. A small metal rod came out of the mantle to scan his eye. A small beeping sound was heard before the fireplace was pulled back and slid to the side, revealing an elevator. “I’ll do even better. I’ll show you.” The man said as he stepped aside to let Watson into the elevator first. Watson couldn’t help but think this reminded him of a cheesy spy movie. What was next? Robots? A time machine?  
Wondering whether he was making the best decision of his life or the biggest mistake, the soldier walked in.

  
The elevator door/fireplace closed and they started moving. That was when he noticed that they hadn’t pressed what floor. There wasn’t even a panel with buttons.

  
“So how exactly am I qualified for this job?”

  
“You stay calm in dangerous situations. You have a natural instinct for things that are out of place. Among other things.” The man answered with chosen words. Watson looked at him sideways, taking in the fact that if he worked here, this would be his boss.

  
“But doesn’t this require investigative qualifications to actually find the artefacts? I’m use to live fire, not looking for clues?”

  
“We know.” Watson could see the man smile slightly as he fiddled with the handle of his umbrella. With a sort of swishing sound, the movement stopped and the doors sled open to a white metal corridor that he was pretty sure were steel tubes of about 9 feet in diameter that led them further underground. Watson’s questions stopped as he instinctively scanned the corridor. The sound of their footsteps ringed loudly against the metal grid boardwalk that led them to a steel door fit for a nuclear bunker. Vertical white pipes lined the path, spread evenly every 8 feet or so with a glass compartment at eye height, showing a blue light.

  
“Don’t touch the bombs.” The man said as he tapped a code into the keypad. John’s eyebrows shot up as he stepped away from the glass compartment he was looking at. The steel door opened loudly to reveal a large room that looked like an office had been taken over by a living room. There was a large desk with a computer, several screens and other devices. He had absolutely no clue what they were or what they could be used for. Bookshelves covered every wall, a coffee table surrounded by three leather sitting chairs, a table with what seemed like a chemistry set. Every surface was covered with clutter; papers, half empty teacups, files, pictures, books, and several objects which, when he looked closer, seemed out of place. Like the ancient looking helmet in a glass case on the bookshelf. “After you, Captain Watson.” Said the man. The army doctor realised he had been standing in place for a moment now, staring at the room.

  
But wasn’t this supposed to be the base of a highly secret government branch? Why did it look like the basement of a hoarder? Walking carefully into the... office, he went towards the desk, curious to inspect the odd-looking devices hooked up to the computer. Well, a computer with 6 screens. That’s when he noticed the windows behind the screens, all lined with wooden blinds.

  
“Follow me.” Said the man, noticing where Watson was looking. He opened a door on the left of the windows that led them to a balcony overlooking what could only be described as a warehouse.

  
“Welcome to Warehouse 13.” The soldier heard the man say as he took in the sight. It was enormous. It just... went on as far as he could see. Industrial lights hung from the metal frames holding the roof, Watson estimated at 120 feet high, lighting the endless rows of containers, racks and shelves filled with... everything. Boxes, books, and objects he couldn’t distinguish from where he stood. And was that a house he could see? And.. a Windmill? How could...

  
“What is this place?” Watson asked, his eyes looking everywhere.

  
“Officially, K-39 triple-Z. But I like to think of it as the world’s attic.”

It was just... What the hell was he doing here?

“My name is Mycroft Holmes.” The man finally introduced himself as he turned to face Watson. Still stunned from what lay before him, it took him a moment to realise what was happening.

  
“So Mr. Holmes. Are you going to explain to me what the hell I’m doing here?” Mycroft cleared his throat before speaking.

  
“I told you before that your suspension is only on paper. In reality, you’ll be working here.”

  
“What? Why get me suspended in the first place then? Why not just transfer me? Or I don’t know; ask!?”

  
“We needed a cover story.”

  
“You destroyed my reputation to get me to work here?”

  
“John, don’t exaggerate. We did not destroy your reputation. We were alerted of what happened in Qatar and took the precautionary measures to cover up the real story. We recruited you in the process because you show all the necessary qualifications to become a Warehouse Agent.”

  
“Bullshit, you’re blackmailing me!”

  
“Into doing what?” John heard from behind him. That voice.

  
He spun around and standing in the doorway they had gone through to access the balcony, he saw the man that disappeared in Qatar.

  
“You!” John spoke, happy to have a target to evacuate his rapidly accumulating frustration.

“Oh, the army doctor. Thought Mycroft might find you eventually. He doesn’t like loose ends.”

  
“I believe you haven’t been formally introduced. Captain Watson, meet my brother, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, Captain John Watson. Your new partner.”

  
“I’m his what?”

  
“He’s my what?” They said simultaneously to Mycroft, and then looked at each other.

  
“No.”

  
“Not a chance.”

  
“I don’t need a partner.” Sherlock told Mycroft.

  
“Yes. You do.” Mycroft answered with an amused smile before turning to Watson. “And so do you. You’re a Warehouse agent now.”

  
“Wait a minute I haven’t agreed to anything.”

  
“I’ve been doing this on my own long enough.” Sherlock told Mycroft at the same time.

  
“You’re seriously blackmailing me into working for you?” John inquired.

  
“I know what I’m doing, I don’t need a partner.” Sherlock added as well.

  
“We had to send in a Special Forces team to get you out.” Mycroft said to Sherlock, ignoring John.  
“What? So we were a distraction.” Watson exclaimed but was still ignored.

  
“I was in perfect control; it’s you that insisted we move out faster than planned.” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

  
“You were attracting attention.” Mycroft answered as if he were speaking patiently to a child.

  
“Well I couldn’t just stand there and watch them try to make a biological bomb out of-” Sherlock protested but was cut off.

  
“You almost died in Borneo retrieving the Lantern from the Courrières Mines.” Mycroft argued.

  
“You’re exaggerating.” Sherlock answered as he turned around to walk back into the office.

  
“You were hanging off a cliff.” Mycroft said a bit louder. Sherlock’s head popped back into the door frame.

  
“Well that cliff wasn’t there when I got there! And I got the artefact, didn’t I?” Sherlock snapped before disappearing again. Mycroft sighed, looked at John and started to walk towards the office.

  
“Now with John you’ll get them faster and without constant mortal peril.” Mycroft said as he entered the room with John not far behind.

  
“Mortal peril is part of the job description.” Sherlock answered without looking away from the computer screens. Watson was trying his best to follow their sparing, his mind still processing the news of his new job with a boss he couldn’t stand and his apparent new partner that wanted nothing to do with him.

  
But he couldn’t help but lift an eyebrow at the mention of mortal peril.

  
Now wait a minute.

  
“Will you two stop speaking as if I wasn’t here? And I do not work here, I haven’t agreed to anything.” As much as he felt something he couldn’t describe about this place, he wasn’t about to get into this blindly, especially with these two.

  
“John, you would have left earlier if this opportunity didn’t interest you.” Mycroft answered smugly.  
“Opportunity? You mean blackmail.” John spat back.

  
“Mycroft has a peculiar recruiting technique.” Sherlock mocked. Watson turned to look at him, and felt his brain bombard him with questions about how he disappeared in Qatar, but this job offer was the more pressing matter.

  
“He is your new partner and that is final.” Mycroft said to Sherlock before turning to John. “You will be living the agent’s quarters on Baker Street. We’ll ship what you need and store the rest. Oh and we’ll need a urine and blood sample. Sherlock, you take care of showing him around and explaining the ropes. I’ll see you both in the morning.” Mycroft’s tone was final as he turned to walk out of the office.

  
“So that’s it then, you just transfer me and I have no say in this?” Watson asked, his disbelief apparent in his face. Mycroft paused and turned. He eyed the Captain and spoke.

  
“Let’s call it a trial period.” He proposed.

  
“And what does it imply?”

  
“One case.” John looked at Mycroft, waiting for more, but nothing came.

  
“And?”

  
“That’s it. Go on one case with Sherlock. Then tell me you still want to go back to the Special Forces.” Mycroft answered John with pursed lips but smiling eyes. John knew better than to leave the fine print unclear.

  
“And you’ll transfer me back without any protests, restore my reputation and never bother me again?” John looked intently at Mycroft who kept his enigmatic look.

  
“Yes, of course.”

  
“Just as simple as that?”

  
“Well, that’s implying that you would want to go back.”

  
“What do you mean? You think I won’t go back after only one case?”

  
“We will see, won’t we?” Mycroft replied. John looked at Sherlock, as if asking him if his brother was serious, but Sherlock was ignoring them, tapping away at the computer.

  
“And why do you need a blood sample anyway?” He asked as he turned back towards Mycroft, only he wasn’t there anymore. Watson looked around the room, but it was only him and Sherlock Holmes. “What the-” He didn’t even say yes to the trial period. Mycroft had just left without a sound. _Why did he keep doing that?_

  
“Don’t mind him. He always does that. He has a penchant for the dramatics.”

  
“That’s rich coming from you.” Watson turned to face the man. Sherlock Holmes. What kind of name was that anyway? Then again, it did suit him. He was staring again. _Why did he keep doing that?_ Oh God, and he had to work with him now. This was absurd. There must be a way to get out of this.

  
“No.” Sherlock said.

  
“Sorry?”

  
“I said no.”

  
“I didn’t say anything.”

  
“You were thinking. Loudly. There’s no way out of this transfer.”

  
“How did you?-“

  
“And if there was a way, I would have thought of it already. We might as well get on with it.” Sherlock said as he stood up. “Come along John. Stay close; don’t want you to get lost down there.” He added as he walked out of the office, not even looking back to see if Watson was following him. “The first Warehouse 13 was built in 1898. It burned down. We didn’t have a knack for how to store artefacts back then. So they built another one. And another one. Remodeling and excavation was necessary as the years went on, to accommodate the arrival of more and more artefacts.” He explained as Watson hurried to follow him. They walked down the stairs to the warehouse level. Rows and rows of 16 foot high racks overflowed with every possible object imaginable. John’s frustration was distracted by his curiosity.

  
“What’s stored here exactly?” He asked as he followed him to what he could only describe as the oddest golf kart he had ever seen. It looked as if it had merged with a roller coaster cart with the ramp that would normally be used to hold them in place, only now it just went from one side to the other like a dashboard. Only the dashboard was a 3’’ copper tube.

  
“Oh, this and that, some things along the lines of the other day.” Sherlock answered vaguely as he sat in front of the steering wheel.

  
“The other day? You mean what you stole from me, it’s here?”

  
“Of course it’s here. I was just about to put it away when I heard the door. Wait? What? That _I_ stole from _you_? I didn’t steal it. I told you I wasn’t leaving without it.”

  
“That’s called stealing, even if you announce it. And when did you take it anyway?”

  
“Grab the ramp.”

  
“And how did you escape?”

  
“John, grab the ramp or we can’t move.”

  
“And how did you know I’m a doctor?”

  
“Will you grab the ramp already?”

  
“Oh calm down with your damn safety precautions.”

  
“It’s not for your safety. It’s a conduit. You are the source. The vehicle works on our electrical energy. Our combined energy is what makes it move. Thomas Edison built this for Thomas Ford as proof of concept and it’s perfectly safe. Now please, put your hands on the ramp.” John stared at him, fascinated by the speed with which the information came out, but put both his hands on the ramp. Off they went, between the rows in this Thomas Edison Kart that sounded like an electric wheel chair.  “Edison wanted Ford to let go of oil but Ford stuck with it because it ruined the engines faster so the consumer had to keep buying them.” They had been moving at what could be considered full speed and John wasn’t seeing the end of the warehouse anytime soon.

  
“And what was it you took at the research facility?”

  
“P.T. Barnum’s Top.”

  
“Who’s P.T. Barnum? And what does it do?”

  
“Barnum was an American showman and conman in the 1840’s. He used it to grow extra limbs to circus performers in order to attract the crowds.”

  
“Limbs?”

  
“Limbs, organs.”

  
“Organs? Human organs?”

  
“If I meant human organs, I would have said human organs. I said organs. Any type.”

  
“Oh my god, that’s incredible, but how?”

  
“That’s the tricky part about artefacts. They channel tangential energy.” At the blank look John gave him, Sherlock chose his words “Well, tangential energy is kind of like the energy that keeps it spinning, or, like many of the items here, that energy can force humans to do whatever the artefact is meant to do.”

  
“And how does that happen exactly?”

  
“We’re not exactly sure how. It goes back to Einstein, and E equals...” Sherlock trailed off as he looked at John’s irritated face. “Somehow, the matter that is in here” He said as he pointed to the glass jar containing the artefact from Qatar. “has just enough energy to move other matter, like you.” He finished as he pointed John who gave him a quizzical look.

  
“Move me where?”

  
“Into trouble.” Sherlock answered with a bit of a mocking tone. John looked at Sherlock in disbelief.  
“That is completely absurd.”

  
“Is gravity absurd? Magnetism? They’re mysterious forces, but we can’t explain them. Can you even explain how a radio works? No, you don’t care, a long as it works. But put that same radio in Jefferson’s hands and what would he do? He would just lock it up until he figures out that it’s not going to kill him.”

  
“But why lock it up? If it can regrow limbs and organs, why not use it? It could save thousands, millions of lives.”

  
“Because there’s a downside. There’s always a downside to an artefact. The gravity of it varies. Like the spinning top here, if you don’t amputate the limb, it keeps growing until it bursts.”  
“Oh.” John said. He didn’t need much imagination to picture scenes of exploding limbs. “But isn’t there a way to control it?”

“Maybe, but even if we could use it, in the wrong hands it could destroys millions of lives.”

  
“What about-“ But Sherlock cut him off.

  
“The research facility. They were building a biological bomb out of it, John.”

  
“Oh.”

  
“Yes _oh_. The only reason I didn’t get out of there sooner is because I wanted to monitor what they were doing. It was fascinating, but they couldn’t control it. Not with the tools they were using. So they decided to make a weapon of it. I had to destroy the research as well as take the artefact. So I asked for the Special Forces.”

  
“We destroyed the research while you took out the artefact. Good plan.”

  
“Of course it was a good plan. Until you came along.” Sherlock said matter-of-factly. John looked at him to see if he was serious. Probably not the joking type.

  
“Excuse me? _I’m_ the one who got you out of there.” He said to Sherlock who looked sideways at him with a smirk.

  
“No, _I_ got _you_ out, with my hands tied might I add.”

  
“You never would have gotten past the guards if I hadn’t been there. But you had to disappear and made me look like a fool.”

  
“Didn’t need much help there.” Sherlock told John as he looked down to him. John stared back at him full force. He was very close to boiling point.

  
“I swear to God.” The soldier hissed, barely stopping himself from punching the smartass in front of him. He had had enough bullshit today and as much as he could endure some assholes in his team, this man was something else.

  
As Sherlock held his stare, secretly intrigued by his new partner, he noted the electrical surges that started to appear in the shelves they we’re passing.

  
“Here we are.” Sherlock said as he stopped the cart in the middle of an aisle. “So as I was saying, we find the unexplained and tuck it safely away here.” Sherlock concluded as he approached a rolling set of stairs to put away the glass jar on the second to highest shelf.

  
“In a super sized Pandora’s box.” John commented sarcastically.

  
“No that’s in aisle 989B. Empty of course.” Sherlock answered as he activated the touch screen in front of the artefact and stepped down the stairs when he saw John’s hands. “John, do us a favor and clear your mind.” Sherlock said with false tranquility, his eyes alarmed. Not understanding why Sherlock would say such a thing, John looked down and discovered he was holding an antique metal kettle.  
“I didn’t pick it up, I swear.” John said, equal part wondering if it was going to explode and curious as to why it was in his hand.

  
“It still amazes me how that thing moves.” Sherlock said as he moved closer to the kettle to inspect it.  
“What? What is it?”

  
“Don’t talk. Don’t hope. Don’t wish for anything.” Sherlock advised quietly.

  
“Christ. Have you ever tried not to think about a pink rhinoceros?”

  
“I know, I know, but you must absolutely empty your mind.”

  
“Why?”

  
“It grants wishes.”

  
“What?” John answered, shocked and relieved. “Wait, what’s so dangerous about a kettle that grants wishes?”

  
“The downside, John. Now look at me, just keep your eyes on me.” Sherlock said as he backed away from John towards the end of the aisle.

  
“Downside? What downside? Why are you backing away, am I going to explode or something?”  
“No, no, none of that, just keep your mind clear.” Sherlock reassured as he grabbed a big plastic pin on a rolling dolly and approached it towards John. “John, this is neutralizer.” He explained as he took the lid off to show some sort of purple goo that filled the bin a bit more than halfway up. “You can think of it as a fire extinguisher for objects that act up.”

  
“Act up?”

  
“Not everybody is affected by everything; you have to be metaphysically predisposed. And the external energies, they have to be in alignment, it’s just a convergence thing.” The words sped out of Sherlock’s mouth. “Now just slowly put the kettle in the purple goo, and look away because of the sparks.” He added more slowly.

  
“Like the plastic bags?”

  
“Yes, now put it in” Sherlock urged him as if he was speaking to a child. Watson could feel his temper act up again. Although it hadn’t had much time to calm down. And he was supposed to be his new partner. Temporary partner. At this rate, they wouldn’t make it through the case. This was ridiculous, what was he doing here?

  
“No don’t!” Sherlock said in a panicked voice as a ferret appeared in the kettle.

  
“What the hell!” John shouted, almost dropping the kettle and the ferret on the floor.

  
“You wished to go back to the Special Forces, didn’t you?” It was true, but John was distracted by the ferret sniffing his hand. “Impossible wishes, wishes that can never be granted, they produce a ferret. Don’t ask me why.” He added when he saw John’s mouth open. “My first week here it took me 3 ferrets to accept the situation.” Sherlock put on purple latex gloves before taking the kettle from John, handing him the ferret and putting the kettle into the purple goo.

  
“Accept the situation.” John said after the sparks stopped. “Right. One case. Doing what exactly?”

  
“Hunting down whatever threatens to ruin the world’s day, neutralizing it and bringing it here. Biscuit for the road?” he said as he took the kettle out of the goo to put it back in its place.

  
“The road? Where are we going?”

  
“221b Baker Street. Don’t forget your ferret.”

* * *

“Right here on the left.” Sherlock said to the cab driver. John looked at the black door with an old bronze knocker. He stepped out of the cab and waited for Sherlock to pay before walking up to the door. It opened before they reached it, revealing a smiling woman in her late sixties.

“Good evening Sherlock. John, nice to meet you. I’m Mrs. Hudson, the landlady. Come in, come in, kettle’s just boiled. I’ll get a cage for the ferret, dear.” Watson stood stunned in front of the step leading into the foyer. Sherlock kissed her on the cheek and walked in, threw his coat on the ramp of the stairs before climbing them. “John?” She added, smiling at him. “I know, it’s a bit overwhelming on the first day. Nothing a good cuppa can’t fix. Come on, dear.” John shook his head a little and returned her smile as he walked in.

  
“Thanks, tea would be lovely.” He said as he looked around while Mrs. Hudson was taking out a cage from a closet in the foyer and passed it to John’s free hand.

  
“I’m down here, your flat is upstairs with Sherlock. Your room is on the second floor. Your things should already be up there. I’ll be up in a couple of minutes with tea.”

  
“Thank you.” John stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked up as the door to Mrs. Hudson’s flat closed behind her. What the hell was happening to him? His squeaking ferret brought him out of his thoughts so John put it in his cage and walked up the two flights of stairs to his new home.

Temporary home. After base camps all over the world, the idea of staying in a flat with a complete stranger who happened to be a prick was absurd. Then again, looking at the ferret he was holding, at least absurd wasn’t boring.

  
There were two doors on the first floor, one leading into the kitchen and the other one leading to the living room that John could swear looked exactly like the office at the warehouse, only smaller, and without the three sided desk and computer system. The same couch, the same chairs in front of a fireplace. As John walked in to inspect, putting the cage on the floor he saw a kitchen on the left. Well, at least that was different. But the chemistry set covering the table was the same, although it looked like a different experiment.

  
“Why does the flat look like the Warehouse office?” He asked Sherlock who lied limply on the couch.  
“They’re linked. And like the Warehouse, the building adapts to its inhabitants. The Warehouse adapts to the artefacts, and the flat adapts to the agents.”

  
“So you’re the reason the flat looks like it’s a warzone?”

  
“Sherlock, the mess you’ve made.” Mrs. Hudson said as she came in with a platter containing a teapot, teacups and biscuits.

  
“Yes well I didn’t know we would be having a new agent today.”

“Here you go dear.” Mrs. Hudson said as she handed John his tea. Instantly John noticed she hadn’t asked how he took it, but he was certain it was exactly to his liking.

  
“Oh thank you, how did you-“

  
“Nevermind, dear. Now, if you need anything, just knock. No later than 9 pm please, I don’t have the energy I used to. Oh, and don’t forget to feed the ferret in the morning. The food is in the cupboard downstairs. Now I’ll let you get settled in. Sherlock, be nice.” She told them as she walked back out the flat.

  
“Yes, thank you, goodbye.” Sherlock said to the ceiling before getting up with a loud sigh. He walked up to the black leather chair, sat down and took a sip of his tea. John did the same, sitting in the chair in front of Sherlock, not knowing what to say. He was used to moving from base to base, but working for a secret government branch and living in a flat was just... odd. But now that he thought about it, odd was better than out of place. And that was how he felt in his London flat when he was on leave, or in this case suspended.

  
And odd seemed to be the ongoing theme here. One case. Just get through one case and go back to the team. He should really call Neeson. He never had gotten around to calling him back yesterday, had just reached for the whiskey. Oh, how a whiskey would be good right about now. He wondered if Sherlock would mind. Hadn’t he said something about knowing about his drinking in Qatar? John chose to ignore his longing and was grateful to be holding a teacup at that moment.

  
He looked at Sherlock who was fiddling with his phone with one hand and holding his tea in the other. His eyes moved from Sherlock to the room, looking at his new flat. This whole place for just the two of them. Not that he minded having this much space, being used to being reduced to a bed and a duffle bag, and sharing common rooms with 20 other soldiers. And compared to his flat, this place was, well, alive. But it was one thing to share living space with your fellow soldiers; it was another to share a flat with your work partner. It felt so... intimate. But the oddest thing was, even though he still had the urge to punch him, he felt... comfortable.

  
Pushing back the thought as far as he could because he absolutely did not want to know why he felt like that, John remembered he never did get to hear Sherlock’s side of the story in Qatar.  
“You’ve got questions.” Sherlock said as he sipped his tea. That mind reading thing was getting annoying.

  
“How did you disappear in Qatar?”

  
“The Barometer.”

  
“Knew it. I knew it. That’s why they kept asking me about it. I never should’ve given it to you without asking what it does.”

  
“Obviously.”

“So? What does it do?”

  
“It freezes time over a limited area for 47 seconds. Plenty of time to take back the artefact and get out of there.”

  
“You had me thinking I was going insane.”

  
“That’s the best cover. Most people don’t need much convincing; they just don’t want to believe what artefacts can do is true.

“Where does it come from? The Barometer.”

“The Philadelphia experiment. An attempt to make US naval ships invisible to the enemy by using high power magnets. It kind of worked. The ship did disappear from the radar for 47 seconds.” John considered the answer. It didn’t really explain how the artefact was created, or why, but with what he had heard today, the explanation might not come in his lifetime. Might as well move on to the next question.

  
“How did you know I was a doctor?”

  
“Your hands. And the pack you were wearing.”

  
“My hands?”

  
“Distinct callous patterns between your index and thumb. But what I want to know is why the Warehouse chose you.”

  
“The Warehouse chose me?”

  
“Don’t ask me how it works, but that’s why Mycroft recruited you. I don’t get it, only a few select people have the abilities to deal with the kind of danger artefacts can create.”

  
“I can see why you would be short handed. How long have you been an agent?”

  
“Almost 10 years.”

  
“How many partners?”

  
“4.” John smirked at the answer, and Sherlock added “But it’s not what you think.”

  
“What happened then?” John asked. He knew it couldn’t have been the fact that he was asshole. Not for all 4 of them. The life span was slim in the army so he could imagine the survival rate here. He waited for an answer but Sherlock was stuck mid movement, looking anywhere but at John.

  
“You know what, I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” He said as he finished his teacup.

  
John watched him get up and walk through the kitchen to the room at the end of the small corridor. The door closed with a clear indication that he wasn’t coming out until tomorrow.

  
Oh there was definitely a story there. But he was probably never going hear it.

  
One case.

  
With a sigh, John put down his unfinished tea, got up from his sitting chair and headed up to his room.

  
So much for trying to get to know his new partner, he told himself as he walked up the stairs, even if it was only for one case. As much as he was curious about this job, the idea of working with Sherlock Holmes, this man who seemed as unexplainable as the artefacts he collected, he didn’t know if he was intrigued or about to strangle him.

  
There was only one door on the second floor. The hinges could be heard softly as it opened to reveal a reasonably large room that contained a double bed, a desk with chair, a sitting chair in front of a window, a cupboard for his clothes and a closet. Everything was in warm colours, set alight with the last rays of light of the day streaming through the muslin curtains.

  
John couldn’t help but smile as he stepped into the room. Not noticing his few belongings stacked between the desk and closet, he walked directly to the bed and lied down on his back. As he listened to the sounds of his new home, he noted that his room was situated exactly over Sherlock’s. It could be an advantage as much as a disadvantage. Well he wouldn’t be around long enough to find out.

* * *

John woke up with a start, looking around trying to understand where he was. After years of camps, waking up in what seemed to be a proper bed was alarming to him.

Then it all came back.

  
“Fucking hell.” He swore as he flopped down heavily. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  
Was that violin he was hearing?

  
He took a moment to listen. Nothing he recognized, but it did sound good. John finally got out of bed to get dressed and head downstairs for a strong cup of tea. Or maybe coffee this morning.

  
Walking down the stairs, he could see Sherlock through the open door of the living room, standing in front of the window, looking out onto the world as he played. As John set foot inside, Sherlock turned and stopped.

  
“Morning.” John greeted. “Don’t mind me, you can keep playing if you want.” He added, not knowing if this was the usual morning routine. He just wanted coffee.

  
“What? Oh, no, well, I thought this might help ease your waking. Coffee is on the counter.” John’s eyebrows shot up, he turned to see a steaming coffee pot on the counter with milk and sugar next to it. He turned back to look at Sherlock.

  
“You were playing for me? You made coffee?” He asked as he moved to get a cup.

  
“Technically yes, only I did need to get you awake and Mrs. Hudson insisted I let you sleep in as long as you wanted if we didn’t have a ping so the violin was the easiest option. The coffee was to speed things up. Don’t get used to it.” Sherlock explained as John took a sip of his coffee.

  
“A ping?” John asked as he walked back into the sitting room.

  
“An artefact sighting. When the Warehouse computer detects a possible artefact it goes ping.” Sherlock said as he put away his violin.

  
“So what did you want me awake for?”

  
“Because we’ve got a ping.” Mycroft’s voice came from behind John.

  
“For God’s sake.” John said suddenly filled with adrenaline and barely stopped himself from striking Mycroft. His instinct was the only thing stopping his trained reflexes. “If you’re going to appear out of nowhere, at least do it where you’re not in striking distance of me because I swear one day you’ll regret it.”

  
“Good morning to you too.” Mycroft answered drily.

  
“Appearing after coffee would also be appreciated.” John added under his breath.

  
“I was wrong. I like him.” Sherlock smirked as he sat in his leather chair.

  
“Did you know he was coming? Is that why you woke me up?” John asked Sherlock.

  
“No, I wanted you to wake up to go to the warehouse. And what do you mean we’ve got a ping? I didn’t get a ping.”

  
“I did say I would see you in the morning. And you haven’t gotten a ping because this one I’ve been looking into myself for quite some time.” Mycroft answered as he handed the folder over to Sherlock.  
“And now it requires leg work so you’re giving it to me, how thoughtful.” Sherlock replied as he took the folder with a fake smile. Mycroft ignored his childish taunt and turned to John to explain further.  
“There seems to be an underground organisation that is seeking out artefacts besides the Warehouse.”

  
“What besides-?” Sherlock half asked Mycroft.

  
“Yes, besides _her_.” He answered offhandedly.

  
“Who then?” Sherlock asked as he looked at the file.

  
“All we know is that they aren’t keeping them.” Mycroft answered.

  
“Then what are they doing with them?” John asked as he nursed his coffee and stood beside Sherlock to read over his shoulder.

  
“From what we can tell at the moment-” Mycroft started when Sherlock interrupted.

  
“They put them back into circulation.”

  
“Indeed. You’ve taken care of those that came up on the Warehouse computer in the past weeks, but now we know of one that hasn’t caused trouble yet but certainly will.” Mycroft explained as he sat down in the chair in front of Sherlock.

  
“Cinderella’s Glass Knife?” John asked when he saw the description beneath the picture in the file.  
“Turns people into glass. Interesting.”

  
“I don’t remember a knife in Cinderella.”

  
“From the Brothers Grimm original tale Cinderella. The mother gave the stepsisters a knife to cut off a part of their foot to fit inside the shoe. Although it wasn’t a glass slipper in the original.”

  
“How do you know all this?”

  
“Most artefacts are from myths and legends, historical events, anything old. It’s the new artefacts that are tedious.” Sherlock answered with a distracted wave of the hand.

  
“New artefacts?”

  
“The good news is, it’s in London.” Mycroft said, ignoring John’s question.

  
“How is that good news?” John asked.

  
“No air travel.” Mycroft explained with a smirk.

  
“You don’t like flying?” John turned to Sherlock.

  
“I don’t mind flying. It’s the other passengers I mind.”

  
“Of course.” John said more to himself as he rolled his eyes.

  
“It was sold to a pawn shop. The address is in the file. Shouldn’t take you too long.” Mycroft added as he looked intently at his brother.

  
“You’re certain it’s still there?” Sherlock asked Mycroft.

  
“From last we heard yes.” Mycroft confirmed.

  
“I’ll get my coat.” John said as he started moving towards the stairs.

  
“Not yet. You’ll be needing these.” Mycroft opened a briefcase and handed John a badge. “Your Warehouse badge. Congratulations agent Watson.”

  
“Don’t congratulate me, I’m an agent only for one case.”

  
“Of course.” Mycroft answered smugly.

  
“Agent. Please. He’s a doctor and a soldier, I don’t know what the Warehouse is thinking.” John breathed slowly through his nose so he wouldn’t permanently imprint his badge into Sherlock’s face. He pocketed it, sniffing loudly as he stared at Sherlock. Mycroft smiled tightly before taking out the same phone model as the one he’d seen Sherlock use in Qatar.

  
“Your Farnsworth.”

  
“Farnsworth?”

  
“A two-way audio and video communications device invented by Philo Farnsworth in 1929, soon after the invention of the television. It’s how we keep in touch. You press the button there and it will call whoever you want to speak to that has one of these.” Mycroft explained.

  
“Why not a mobile?”

  
“Standard issue. The Warehouse has its own secure frequency spectrum that can’t be cracked, hacked, tapped or otherwise “broken”. Now-” John cut him off.

  
“Wait why does mine look different from Sherlock’s?” John asked as he looked at the reddish brown metal case in his hands, like it was made to resist an atom bomb. The lid opened like a book, a round screen with a dial on the bottom left, a red button next to it and a led light. “This looks like it came out of a bad 60’s sci-fi movie.”

  
“I made some improvements to mine.” Sherlock said as he opened his own,black with golden details in the corner. It looked like the child of an iphone and the model John was holding.

  
“What did you do to it?”

  
“Added wifi, touchscreen, basic apps, integrated ping system. Couldn’t get rid of the ringtone though.”

  
“Yes thank you, you can continue showing off when I’ve left.” Mycroft said as he turned to John, ignoring Sherlock’s smug look. “Now this, well, you should have a bit of target practice first but nevertheless, it’s yours.” Mycroft said as he handed John the oddest looking gun he had ever seen. The top was a glass cylinder with an electrical system running inside it, held in place by a copper band welded onto the copper handle. There seemed to be an ongoing steam punk theme. “It’s called a Tesla gun. It’s electrically based. It’s stuns and erases the short term memory. You can adjust the intensity with the dial on the side here, depending on your target. Sherlock has the rest of the tools you’ll with him.”

  
“Yes, yes, goodbye Mycroft. Come on John, let’s get this over with.” John looked up to see Sherlock walk out of the sitting room with a swish of his coat.

  
“Well, thanks.” John said as he turned to Mycroft only to find he was gone. “Yeah, that’s going to be annoying.” He commented to the empty room before running to get his coat and catching up to Sherlock who was hailing a cab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed :D


	3. One case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentionned in the chapter 2 comments, the spelling of the word artifact/artefact varies if you come from the UK or US. Since this is a Warehouse 13 crossover, I choose to spell artifact from now on.

They had been driving through London for almost ten minutes. John was looking out the window at the passing streets, taking in what had changed since his last time on leave. Sherlock had been on his Farnsworth ever since he had given the address to the driver.

“So what are we doing?” John asked, turning to look at him. He could see the concentration in his eyes, his thumbs moving incessantly on the screen.

“Getting an artifact. I thought that was fairly obvious.” He answered without missing a beat on whatever he was doing. John felt annoyed at how he was being treated.

“That was sold to a pawnshop, yes, I got that part. But what are we suppose to do once we get there? Walk in, ask for a knife with a glass blade, take it and leave?” John insisted, wanting to know what he was going up against.

“If we’re lucky, yes.”

“And if we aren’t lucky?” Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned dramatically to John, clearly tired of being questioned.

“It’s been sold and things could get a little more complicated.” He said in a huff.

“How complicated?” John couldn’t care less at how annoyed he got, he needed this information, and Sherlock was supposed to give it to him anyway. He was his partner after all, even if it was only for this case.

“ _More_  complicated.” Sherlock concluded, his eyes returning to his Farnsworth.

“So what am I supposed to do?” John insisted. Sherlock’s eyes lifted suddenly, staring at John in a way that made him a bit uncomfortable but he didn’t let it show.

“ _I_  investigate.  _You_  are just here for the moment.” Sherlock explained. John frowned at him.

“I thought I was your partner?”

“No, you’re here because you have to. I do not need a partner. You’ll probably cause more trouble than help anyway. So you stay out of the way and let me do my job and this will be over soon. You’ll be able to run back to your little task force and fire guns.” Sherlock said in a breath before turning his attention back to his phone.

John was taken aback by what he had heard. Looking out the window at the passing streets, John spoke to Sherlock’s reflection.

“Yeah, but do you have to be such an arse about it?” He saw him lift his head. Their eyes met briefly in the glass before the cab driver told them they’d arrived.             

As they stepped out of the cab in front of the pawn shop, John looked around, not even realising he was scanning for possible threats. Sherlock noticed but didn’t say anything; instead he looked at the objects through the window, wondering if there were any more artifacts in there they didn’t know about.

He opened the door for John, who gave him a surprised look, given what he had just heard in the car, which Sherlock ignored, trying to act as if it were completely normal for him to do so. They walked into a small shop, filled with electronic devises, odd pieces of furniture, even a wall covered with guitars. A little section in the back seemed to be for smaller objects. Sherlock moved directly towards it, leaving John alone in the front section. He kept an eye on the man behind the counter, nodding his head to him as he looked around. He was expecting everything to be crap covered in dust, but this stuff was actually nice, and well kept. An old clock caught John’s attention. It was a small box made out of dark brown polished wood with marble detailing around the edges. A clock ticked on the front, with a painted face. He picked it up to look at the clock face more closely. It looked like a painting of the moon smiling.

“Found it!” John heard Sherlock call from behind him. He looked up to see him wearing purple latex gloves, holding a knife with a glass blade. John put down the clock and headed towards Sherlock, not noticing that the smiling face had turned into a scowl.

“Are you the manager?” Sherlock asked the man behind the counter. He was shorter than John, late fifties, bit of a comb over going on.

“Owner.” The man answered, his tone filled with pride, puffing up his chest at the tall man in the long coat staring intently at him.

“Who sold this to you?” Sherlock asked as he showed the knife.

“Why? You like it, buy it.” The owner said as he crossed his arms. John’s eyebrow shot up at the owner’s salesperson skills. “Why do you need to know where it comes from?”

“You keep records of the items you buy?” Sherlock insisted.

“Who’s asking?” The owner asked with a suspicious tone. Sherlock flashed his badge.

“IRS.” He said convincingly. John almost let show the surprise on his face.

“Ah, come on.” The small man answered looking around, as if he could find a way to get out of a possible threat to his business.

“It’s not you we’re investigating; it’s the man who sold this to you. Now give us your records or we strip this place clean.” Sherlock said in the most threatening manner possible, but John saw the glint of amusement in his eye.

“Alright, alright, gimme a minute, they’re in the office.” The owner answered and he backed towards the door on the far left behind the counter. Sherlock looked around the shop for other possible artifacts while they we’re waiting. John kept an eye on the man. Not that he could see him from where he was standing, but he could hear him moving around in his office. Although why would he move his chair? It was taking him a bit longer than necessary to find papers he used every day. Was that grunting? John turned towards Sherlock who had just stopped short and was looking towards the office.

“He’s making a run for it, isn’t he?” John asked Sherlock as they heard glass breaking.

“Yup.” Sherlock answered, running towards the office. John followed him as best he could. He hadn’t expected a man with such a long coat to move so quickly. They climbed through the window and hurried down the alley towards the street, just in time to see him turn the corner. John, who was speeding up to follow the man down the street, almost ran into Sherlock who was cutting through another alley.

“What are you doing? This way!” Sherlock shouted at John as he saw him almost miss the turn.

“Don’t worry about me, get him!” John retorted, not believing Sherlock was being a prick in the middle of a chase. And he shouldn’t be finding it funny. Nevertheless, his attitude was reminding him of Jones.

When the man ran past the alley they had just cut through, Sherlock sprang out and tackled him. John caught up and saw them struggling on the ground. Sherlock was still holding the knife. The man knocked it out of his hand onto the sidewalk. As John moved to get it, the man kicked his legs and tripped him. Before the soldier he knew it, he was on the ground, seeing Sherlock get an elbow to the face and the man crawling to grab the knife.

“No!” John called out as he struggled to his feet to stop him. He moved as fast as he could to get to it first. But he didn’t make it in time. Grabbing the knife, the man turned, blindly stabbing towards John. It cut through his left shoulder; he could feel the blade coming out the back. Ignoring the pain, his right hand caught the man’s wrist and tightened until he let go of the handle. With a frightened look, the owner started backing away. John grabbed him by the shirt and head butted him, watching him fall unconscious on the pavement. He turned to see how Sherlock was doing, until he noticed that the blade had started glowing and his shoulder was turning into glass.

“What the fuck?!” John exclaimed, his eyes going from the wound to Sherlock and back, feeling the odd ache of his anatomy turning into glass.

“What happened? Why did you let him stab you with the artifact?”

“Yeah, like I asked him to!” John hissed. “Ah, fuck.” He grunted in pain. “He’s out cold now, so fix this!” John demanded as he saw the glass spreading along his arm and torso.

“We have to get the knife out.” Sherlock said as he approached him.

“Do it!” John growled, grabbing Sherlock’s shoulder for support as the agent placed his hands on the handle and pulled the knife out with one swift movement. John bit his lip to hold back the yell of pain as he felt the blade come out. He looked and saw the glass had stopped spreading.

“Look away.” Sherlock said as he took out a neutralizing bag and dropped the blade into it. A blue flash of light sparked and the sound of static electricity was heard as they both averted their gaze. John checked his shoulder and saw the glass disappearing and the wound closing up. Even his clothes were magically fixed. But he still felt an odd sensation where the blade used to be.

“You ok?” Sherlock asked quietly, putting away the bagged dagger in his coat.

“Fine.” John answered as he looked up. Their eyes met and John couldn’t help but laugh. “That was the most ridiculous thing that has ever happened to me.”

“You invaded Afghanistan.”  Sherlock pointed out and John laughed even more. “Well, congratulations. You almost got killed by an artifact. You’re officially a Warehouse agent.” Sherlock added as they calmed down.

“Thanks, even if it is only for one case.” John said, smiling. They both laughed when they heard the unconscious man moan. “The music is a bit odd though.” John remarked as he helped the man up so they could take him back to the shop and get the paperwork they needed.

“What music?” Sherlock asked with a worried look on his face.

“The classical music playing.” John answered as he put the man’s arm around his shoulders to better carry him back. Sherlock looked at John with alarm.

“John. There’s no music playing.” He said gravely.

“What? But I’ve been hearing it since the pawn shop.” John added but Sherlock had stopped short, his eyes squinted as he loomed over John.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.” John answered honestly, thinking of the kettle from last night.

“Bullshit. I knew you would be trouble. What did you touch?” John remembered the clock he had picked up in the pawn shop before Sherlock had distracted him. Clearing his throat, John answered truthfully, hoping the possible effects of what he had accidently triggered were merely as threatening as the ferret he now owned.

“Nothing, just a clock.”

“A clock? What clock?”  Sherlock insisted.

“A simple clock. Look. Let’s just go back and I’ll show you.” John said as he tugged at the man they were holding to get them moving again.

“What song are you hearing?” Sherlock continued as they made their way back.

“What does that have to do with it?”

“It could help us know who owned it.”

“And that’s useful because?”

“Back story; we’ll know why you’re hearing music and what other effects could happen.”

“What do you mean  _other effects_?” John asked, trying not to sound worried at the prospect of possible death.

“Just tell me what song?” Sherlock pressured. John took a breath and swallowed his growing feeling of dread before answering.

“I don’t know. It’s an orchestra.” He described, feeling at a loss for not being able to help more.

“Yes, you said classical. What composer?”

“Do I look like I can recognize a composer by ear?” Sherlock’s exasperation spilled out.

“If you would just  _listen_ , the difference is blatant.” John gave him a look that was a clear warning to choose his next words with care. Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Are you feeling ill?” He asked with false sincerity.

“Besides the stabbing?” The soldier retorted sarcastically which got him the same look he had given Sherlock. With a pleased smirk, John answered. “No. But I think it’s getting louder.” The song he was hearing changed and the volume had increased. He held his head with his free hand.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Sherlock reproached.

“I thought it was the music in the shop. And then between chasing a man down the streets, getting stabbed and transformed into glass, hearing orchestra music wasn’t really my priority.” John replied, irritated. He didn’t know which was worse, the playlist in his head or his arse of a partner. He didn’t see Sherlock turn to stare at him over the head of the unconscious man they we’re carrying. The agent was realising the field surgeon had just been affected by an artifact and hadn’t let it affect the investigation. To be fair, hearing music wasn’t very threatening to the case, but John was taking the stabbing and the music rather well for someone who had had no idea artifacts existed only 24 hours ago.  

“You get two artifacts in one go. It’s not bad for a first time, even though you got stabbed.” Sherlock stated, turning his attention back to the road.

“Are you trying to be reassuring?” John asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Sherlock’s eyebrows lifted to feint an innocent look.

“I-.”

“Don’t.” The soldier warned.

“Well, it did go well, the knife was there, the clock was just a coincidence. It’ll be over once we neutralize it.” Sherlock said as they finally approached the shop entrance. He opened the door, both of them struggling to get the unconscious man through it. They sat him down in a chair and John took out tie wraps.

“You brought tie wraps?” Sherlock asked. It had only been two days since he had been the one getting tied up by the soldier.

“Yes. I brought tie wraps.” John answered, his tone indicating he knew what Sherlock was referring to.

“Why?” The agent insisted, his brow furrowed with distrust.

“In case I needed tie wraps.” John answered back in a mocking tone.

“Just show me the clock. And put on gloves this time.” Sherlock spat back.

“How was I supposed to know it was going to make me listen to music in my head?” John grumbled innocently, a smile tugging at his lips as he walked over to the shelf where he had seen the clock.

“This is a pawnshop, it’s like a museum, old-looking things everywhere; it’s a goldmine for artifacts.” Sherlock explained as he followed John.

“Here, right here.” John said as he grabbed the clock.

“Gloves!” Sherlock repeated as John took it into his bare hands.

“Well too late now, I’ve already been infected.”

“ _Whammied_.” Sherlock corrected as he held the clock at eye level and walked back to the counter.

“What?” John asked.

“We say whammied by an artifact.”

“Whatever. Here.” John said as Sherlock placed the clock on the counter and took out a pocket magnifying glass to inspect it.

“Late 1800’s. But that face...” Sherlock wondered as he straightened and closed his eyes. John waited for him to open them, only he stood there, completely still. After almost 20 seconds, John had to speak.

“Why are you meditating? Neutralize it already.” Sherlock opened his eyes as if he were waking from a dream.

“I wasn’t meditating, I was thinking. And excuse me for wanting to inspect it before neutralizing.” He said, his tone reproachful.

“Yeah well this music is getting a bit irritating. Would you mind getting on with it?”

“Fine.” Sherlock conceded as he pocketed his magnifying glass and took out a neutralizing bag.

“Huh! That’s weird.” John observed as he looked at the clock’s face.

“What?”

“It was smiling when I picked it up.” John explained. Sherlock’s eyes widened as he looked back at the clock.

“And now it’s scowling.” He completed, crouching once again to look at the scowling face. “Interesting. Come on, bag it.” He said as he stood up and held out the bag. John took the clock and dropped it in; only nothing happened. They both turned to look into the bag, then at each other. "We need to go back to the Warehouse.” Sherlock said hurriedly.

“What?”

“Grab the transaction papers for the knife; once we fix you, we’ll pay a visit to the previous knife owner.” Sherlock said as he pocketed the clock and took out his Farnsworth.

Mycroft’s face appeared on screen.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, dear brother?”

“The pawn shop owner ran and tried to kill John when we asked who sold the artifact to him. Thought you might want to have a chat with him?”

“You thought correctly. Did you get a name?”

“Still working on it. Send your minions to get the owner. He’ll be waiting for you in his shop.” Sherlock finished and closed the metal lid and turned to John, ignoring his surprised look. “Warehouse.” He added and with a whirl of his coat, he walked out of the shop. 

* * *

 

John was pacing the office, looking towards Sherlock who was researching the Warehouse computer. It seemed to have access to a lot of restricted databases. Then again, this was probably the highest ranking restricted database on earth.

John didn’t know what to say about Sherlock’s omission: why hadn’t he mentioned what was currently happening to him when he spoke with his brother.           

“Found it!” Sherlock said triumphantly, his hands still typing on the keyboard. “Here: Beethoven’s clock. It was a present from a piano teacher when he was young. A clock of most exquisite decor it says here. Yes, that’s what I thought.” Sherlock said as a picture of the clock showed up on one of the computer screens in the office. “The bust is missing.” He added as he pointed to the sculpture of Aphrodite sitting atop the clock. “That’s why we couldn’t neutralise it. We need both pieces for the effects to stop.”

“Ok. Where is it?”

“I’m still working on that part.” Sherlock said less triumphantly.

“What?” John said loudly, turning his head so his ear was facing Sherlock.

“I’m working on it.” He repeated loudly. The volume had probably increased again.

“Sherlock, it’s getting louder again.” John added, pointing towards his head.

“Yes, I noticed.” Sherlock muttered with an eye roll.

“Sherlock, what’s going to happen?” John asked calmly, but Sherlock could hear the worried undertones. He stopped typing and turned to look at John.

“Well, Beethoven was pictured frowning intensely in almost every image of him as an adult because his deafness caused him a great deal of pain.” Sherlock tried to say in the most delicate way he could think of, so it rather came out like something unimportant. He saw worried eyes looking back at him.

“Sherlock, am I going deaf?” John asked in a gentle voice. Sherlock wasn’t sure John had heard himself pose the question.

“I think so, yes.” He answered honestly, his head nodding slightly in case John couldn’t hear him.

“And neutralizing the missing piece of the artifact can fix it?”

“Either that or destroying both pieces. Most of the time.”

“MOST OF THE TIME?!” John voice exploded in the room.

“Look, no matter how we fix it, there is a way, and I always find it. And to do that, we need the other piece.” Sherlock said a bit louder, his voice steady. John smiled at what he had just heard. He is so full of himself, John thought. He might as well show off now that he has the chance. It wasn’t like anyone else could help him.

“Then find it.” Sherlock heard John’s resolution in his voice. The agent was surprised he was reacting so well to what was happening. Not that he was expecting a soldier to freak out because of an artifact, but he had expected... well, he didn’t know what to expect of John, and that was what intrigued him the most. Looking back at the soldier with a confident look, Sherlock nodded and turned back to the computer.

John continued to pace the office as Sherlock tapped on the keyboard. Well, he saw him tap; he couldn’t actually hear it.

“Found it. Just recently was sold to what seems like a second class art gallery in Brixton.” Sherlock told him as he pointed towards the screen showing a single room with podiums displaying tacky sculptures and shelves overfilled with decorative objects. Even the owner’s desk was in the same crowded room. John took a quick look and moved to get his coat.

“How much time do I have until I’m deaf?!” He asked loudly as they walked out of the office into the white corridor leading to the elevator.

“That depends on the play list. If you’re listening to everything he’s composed, you have over a day.” Sherlock’s voice echoed against the metal walls.

“And worse case?!”

“You’re listening to an opus.”

“A what?!”

“An Opus!”

“Which means?!” John asked as Sherlock called the elevator.

“Three hours. Four tops!” He answered as the elevator doors opened.

“So I’ve got about two hours left!” John stated as they walked in.

“Better hurry up then.” The agent concluded as the elevator doors closed. 

* * *

 

One case.

John had agreed to one case, sort of, and he might come out of it deaf. Then he wouldn’t be able to go back to Special Forces or work at the Warehouse. This was becoming a nightmare.

The cab ride to Brixton was silent. As in they didn’t speak; it was far from silent for John and Sherlock didn’t want to scream to be heard. He spent most of his time on his phone. The other looked at the passing sights, trying to enjoy the music, but it felt like a bad soundtrack to an inevitable tragic death.

They arrived at the gallery only to find it was closed that day.

“Shit!” John cursed as he shook the door handle, not caring about the sign that clearly indicated it was closed.

“Come on.” Sherlock said as he grabbed John’s arm, leading him to the side of the building. He took something out of his coat, and John understood what it was when he saw him picking the lock.

“I’m surprised you don’t have an artifact for that.” John murmured quietly as he looked around, not really expecting an answer since he wouldn’t hear it anyway.

“I like the old fashioned way when I can. It’s just as fast.” Sherlock answered out of habit, knowing he wouldn’t be heard.

“I hope you’re just as fast.” John added as he surveyed their surroundings. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock finished working the lock. He stood up to put the tools away and John opened the door.

“No, don’t!” Sherlock warned John as the alarm went off. “Shit.” The agent breathed.

“Shit! The alarm! Why didn’t you take care of that before?” John demanded loudly. He turned to see Sherlock get an odd looking cylinder out of his coat and connect it to the alarm system flashing on the wall next to the door. John approached him and he could see a row of numbers on the cylinder that started turning and switching. After a couple of seconds, the number sequence stopped and the lights turned green, silencing the alarm. John wanted to ask how the cylinder worked, but it wasn’t really the best time.

“Let’s go.” Sherlock said as he opened the door and walked inside, not waiting to see if John was following. The door led them into a corridor. On their left was the washroom and what seemed to be a maintenance closet. The right opened into the same room as the picture they saw at the Warehouse. It was larger than what the picture suggested, but it was still very cramped. There was dust everywhere, and the desk was a mess of papers.

“It’s got to be here somewhere.” Sherlock thought aloud.

“Where is it?” John asked as quietly as he thought he sounded as he took in the room.

“According to the picture on the web, it should be right here.” Sherlock answered quietly, even though he knew John wouldn’t hear him. Looking around, he saw the dust patterns on two of the podiums and empty spots on the shelves. “Things are missing. Probably sold.” Sherlock said as he twirled around. “What am I looking for, what am I looking for?” He wondered to himself until he faced the desk. “The manifest.” Sherlock noted as he walked over and looked through the papers. “Here, here, marble, Aphrodite’s, sold to a Mrs. Adams. And here is her address, it’s close.” He said as he took a picture of the page with his phone. “Let’s go, John.” He prompted as he dropped the papers and turn towards the exit, but John wasn’t moving. “John?” Sherlock repeated as he approached him. “Are you alright?” Sherlock put his hand on John’s arm to get his attention. John turned, his expression asking what was going on. Not wanting to scream, they had made enough noise with the alarm, Sherlock took out his phone. He texted John, but handed his phone to him instead of trying to make him understand to check his own.

_I found the new owner’s address. Not far. How are you? - SH_

“I’ve been better. Let’s go!” John answered, his eyes hard, and walked out of the room.

* * *

 

They knocked on the door of the residence of Mrs. Adams. A man with a stature comparable to a football player answered the door.

“Hello, sir. We’re looking for Mrs. Adams.” Sherlock told the man with a friendly smile. John’s eyebrow lifted at the smile, even though he couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Yes, she’s my aunt. But she’s out right now. Can I help you?” The man answered.

“Has she bought something from an art gallery recently?” Sherlock asked, turning a bit emotional. The man furrowed his brows as he answered.

“Maybe, why?”

“We believe she has our statue of Aphrodite’s. It was wrongfully sold to that gallery, it’s sentimental, and we would really like to have it back. We can reimburse your aunt.” Sherlock explained, looking sadly at John who was disconcerted by the sudden act he was involved in. Improvising since he had no idea what the setup was, John just went with an upset look, which wasn’t very hard to do. The man looked at them and shrugged.

“Yeah, ok, but, you’re going to need to find it first.” The man said as he led them inside.

“Oh, thank you, that’s very kind of you.” Sherlock answered hiding his surprise. Well that was easy, he thought. They walked into the entrance hall, the ceiling two stories high with a skylight, a large staircase going up to a balcony leading to rooms on the left and right. John could see a dining room on his left, probably a kitchen that way also.

“I don’t care. She probably won’t notice anyway.” The nephew told Sherlock as he led them to the right, into a living room filled with shipping boxes. “There’s something new in every box. My aunt likes to collect stuff.”

“Right.” Sherlock said as he looked around the room. “Well, better get started then.” He said with a fake smile to the man before he turned to John who nodded at him and took a box next to him to look into it. Sherlock went on the other side of the room to search.

“So what does it look like? Maybe I can help you.” The man offered, turning to John who didn’t hear him. It took a moment for Sherlock to realise John was being rude without knowing it.

“Don’t mind him, he’s almost deaf. Unless you scream.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“We’re looking for this.” Sherlock explained as he took out a picture of the clock with the bust on it. “The sculpture on top, it’s what we’re need.”

“It is for him?” The man asked as he pointed towards John who was moving boxes around.

“Yes.” Sherlock answered after a pause. He could work around the truth.

“You been together long?” The question took Sherlock off guard and he didn’t know what answer would be most convincing considering the situation.

“Feels like forever.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. The man chuckled as he rummaged through a box. His eyes widened a moment before he looked at Sherlock, whose back was turned, and John on the other side of the room, completely oblivious to them. The man stood up with the box he was looking through and asked.

“Do you want something to drink? Water? Tea?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Sherlock answered as he put a box aside and opened another.

“You sure? It’s no trouble.” The man insisted.

“Yes.” Sherlock repeated absently.

“What about...” The man asked. Sherlock turned to see him nudge his chin towards John.

“He’s fine.” Sherlock said before turning back to the task at hand.

“Well I’ll take this out to the trash.” The man told him as he started walking out of the room.

“Hum?” Sherlock said, looking up. “Wait, we haven’t checked that.” He added when the man started to run; taking the bust out and throwing the box he was holding at Sherlock.

“John!” Only John had his back turned and couldn’t hear him. Sherlock hurried to him and grabbed him arm. “He’s getting away!” He screamed to John while pointing towards where the man was fleeing. John nodded and they started running towards the stairs the man had run up.

“Ahhh!” John screamed as he grabbed his head, almost collapsing to the floor. Sherlock turned and grabbed him, holding him up as best he could.

“John, what’s wrong?”

“IT’S LOUD, it’s so loud. It changed, it’s just piano now.”

“Piano? A concerto?” Sherlock thought aloud.

“WHAT?!” John asked, wondering if it was something important.

“Oh no. Beethoven’s piano concerto no.5 was his last public appearance before he went deaf.” Sherlock said, his face grave. John didn’t like the face Sherlock was making.

“WHAT?! Never mind, just go! Get the artifact! I’LL BE OK!” John told him loudly. He would get the explanations later. Sherlock looked at him a moment before nodding and running after the man, Tesla in hand.

Up the stairs was a corridor on the left and one on the right. Sherlock approached the top slowly. He could hear the rattle of door knobs on his left. He finished climbing the stairs and laid flat against the opposing wall, having seen the man trapped in a dead end, trying to find an unlocked door. He walked silently on the carpeted floors toward the door frame separating the rooms from the entrance hall. He looked through the ramp and saw John standing up, his hand tight around the bottom post of the stair case, holding his head. They had minutes left. He had to move now.

“It’s over. Give me the sculpture.” Sherlock said, his Tesla pointed at the man. He turned slowly, holding his hands up, the marble statue in his right hand.

“Ok, ok, look, I’m sorry.” He apologized, moving slowly towards Sherlock. “I just wanted some way to pay for my aunt’s surgery. She keeps spending all her money on this crap; she’s a bit senile, you know, old.”

“So she’s spending all of your inheritance money, and how is that my problem?” Sherlock retorted, seeing through the man’s act. The man hesitated a moment but kept moving towards the agent.

“How-”

“Obvious. And you won’t get any ransom money for that sculpture. Hand it over.” Sherlock said, cutting the man off and offering his free hand. He saw the exact moment when the man chose to run, attempting to tackle Sherlock to get through; only Sherlock ducked and flipped him onto his back. He wasn’t expecting his blow to be so strong. The Tesla was thrown out of his hands and fell over the railing. His balance took a hit and even though the man was on his back, the agent’s ankle shouldn’t have twisted that way. Sitting on the floor, Sherlock tried to control the pain as the man slowly got up, the second half of the artifact still in his hand. Holding his head with the other, he straightened himself and noticed John standing in front of him, a deadly look in his eyes. The man looked down at him and smiled. His head barely reached the man’s shoulders.

“What are you going to do, little man?” The nephew asked. Sherlock knew John couldn’t hear what he had said, but was pretty certain he wouldn’t have liked it.

He didn’t see that punch coming, though.

Sherlock heard the man’s jaw crack under the force of the punch, and the sound of his head hitting the wall on his left. His body slid against it and crumbled to the floor, unconscious, the artifact falling limply from his hand.

Without a word, John picked up the sculpture and walked to Sherlock. Sitting up and leaning against the ramp, Sherlock took out a bag.

“John.” Was all Sherlock could say. But all John could hear was a dull steady tone.

“Just do it.” John demanded. Sherlock kept his eyes on John as he opened the bag and held it out. Sherlock nodded to John, who nodded back and dropped it into the bag. They both looked away as the flashing electric blue light sparked.

“John? John! Can you hear me?” Sherlock asked, his hand grabbing his forearm and shaking it. It should work since the other part had already been neutralized. He hoped it wasn’t too late to reverse the effects.

The tone disappeared and sound rushed back in. It felt a bit like getting hit by a bus in your ears.

“Yes, yes, I can hear you, no need to shout.” John said, his face tensing in pain at the sound coming back to him all at once, his hands covering his ears. Sherlock screaming didn’t help. But he had never been so glad to hear that voice.

“Good. Good.” Sherlock answered, relieved, leaning back against the railing. They stayed on the floor a moment, catching their breaths.

“Thank you.” John said after a moment.

“Yes. Well. It’s part of the job.” Sherlock answered awkwardly. “So. Stabbed and turned deaf in one day.” John didn’t know what to answer. “A good day then.” Sherlock added, smiling.

John looked at him, leaning against the ramp, his shirt messed up from the fight, and his hair out of control, John felt a twinge he hadn’t felt in years.

“I’d say so yeah.” He answered, doing his best to ignore the feeling. He instead concentrated on standing up. “You ok?” John asked as he dusted himself off and offered his hand to Sherlock.

“Sprained ankle, nothing serious.” He answered as he grabbed John’s with one hand and the ramp with the other in order to get up, not doing a good job at hiding the pain.

“You’re going to need crutches. Two weeks without putting pressure on your ankle.” John told him as he placed Sherlock’s arm around his shoulders to support his weight while they walked back down the stairs.

"It’s fine.” Sherlock flinched as he tried to walk on it. Pain shot from his ankle up his leg, making him loose balance and almost fall onto the railing. John’s arm tightened around Sherlock’s back, his other hand grabbing his shirt to keep him from falling.

“Two weeks.” John repeated as he helped Sherlock straighten himself. “I’m a doctor, remember?” He added looking up at him. Sherlock stared back, making John very conscious of how physically close they were. Ignoring the insisting longing, John cleared his throat and remembered the man passed out on the floor.

“Do I remember Mycroft saying that the Tesla stuns and erases short term memory?”

“Yes. Why?” Sherlock asked before John took it out and stunned the unconscious nephew. Putting the Tesla away, they continued walking towards the door, both smiling but not looking at each other.

Stepping outside, Sherlock asked. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Well, getting stabbed can do that to you. I know this great little Chinese place.”

“We need to get you patched up first.”

“We could get take away on the way back to the Warehouse.”

“Just order in.”

“At the Warehouse?” John thought of a Chinese delivery boy ringing the Diogenes club and almost laughed.

“Well, let’s go to the flat then.”

“No, I can’t take artifacts back to the flat.” Sherlock explained as he waved down a cab.

“Why not?”

“Long story. Don’t ask Mrs. Hudson about it, she gets cranky at me for days after.” John smiled at the idea of Sherlock messing up enough to have such a lovely lady pissed at him.

* * *

 

They settled on going to the warehouse to dump the knife and the clock in the quarantine zone, and calling the take-out from there, so they’d get to the flat at the same time as the food. John insisted to take a look at Sherlock’s ankle before they ate. The argument finally settled on Sherlock eating while John worked, since there were no open wounds, so hygiene wasn’t an issue.

Sitting in the leather chair, his leg elevated on the ottoman with a bag of ice wrapped in a flannel on his sprained ankle, Sherlock put down his container. John was sitting in the chair in front of him, not even halfway through his supper.

“So tomorrow we look for the man who sold the knife to the pawn shop?” John asked between mouthfuls.

“Hum.” Sherlock was staring again.

“What?”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“What?”

“Working for the Warehouse.” Sherlock explained. John looked down at his food even though he could still feel him staring.

“No. Maybe. I haven’t made up my mind yet. We’re not done anyway.”

“Right.”

“And you don’t seem to mind having me as a partner.”

“When I’m not saving your arse you mean?” Sherlock teased.

“Oi, you could’ve gotten stabbed too. And nobody could’ve known about the clock.” John answered, more offended than he should be, but losing his hearing had kind of freaked him out. “And don’t you have an artifact detector or something?”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“Can’t you detect the... what did you call it? Tangential energy?”

“The energy is unique to each artifact, there’s no general wavelength for artifacts like radioactivity. And they’re part organic, so basically any human could be detected in some way. Just always handle old objects with gloves. Some artifacts even have a distance to stand away from.” Sherlock said with an air of superiority.

“Well you should have told me that from the start.” John answered, annoyed.

“It’s in the first chapter of the manual.”

“Manual?” Sherlock’s look turned to concern.

“Mycroft didn’t mention the manual?”

“Nope.” John confirmed.

“Well, read the manual.” Sherlock said, taking out his phone. John rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, thanks.” He ate in silence for a moment. “Why didn’t you have a Tesla in Qatar?”

“We got searched when we went in and out of the building. It was safer not to keep it with me.” Sherlock said, his attention on his Farnsworth.

“Yet they didn’t say anything about the phone?”

“I got some trouble the first day.” Sherlock answered evasively. John stayed silent for a moment, eating and looking around the room. He remembered the building adapted to the agents. He wondered if there was more than his room that had changed since he’d been here. Looking at the mess, the doctor guessed time must be a factor. Looking back at Sherlock, John considered this might be his last occasion to ask as many questions as he could.

“So how did you end up an agent at the Warehouse?”

“Why ask?”

“What? Are you shy?”

“I’m not shy. I want to know  _why_  you want to know.”

“Well, you’ve probably had access to my file. Even Mrs. Hudson knows how I take my tea. So I’d like a little background info.”

“Mrs. Hudson knowing how you like your tea had nothing to do with this. But I get your point.”

“What about Mrs. Hudson?”

“Would you pick a question?”

“Fine. Your background then.”

“Well, with my brother as Caretaker, let’s just say I’ve been training to be an agent for a long time.”

“Caretaker?”

“Yes, chapter 12 in the manual.” Sherlock started when he remembered. “Oh right. The Caretaker is the agent who has a form of symbiotic connection to the current incarnation of the Warehouse. The link the Caretaker has with the Warehouse permits them to search actively through inventory, sense when the Warehouse is in trouble, and above all be a living body for the Warehouse’s soul to share.”

“The Warehouse has a soul? How is that even possible?”

“John, you got stabbed by a knife with a glass blade that started to transform you into glass and then lost your hearing because you made a clock frown.”

“Point taken.”

“And I told you, artifacts are part organic, so is the Warehouse, hence the soul sharing with Mycroft.” Speaking of Mycroft.

“Why didn’t you tell Mycroft about me getting infected by the clock?”

“Whammied.” Sherlock corrected.

“Why whammied?” John asked since he didn’t have the time earlier.

“Well, you can’t say infected, since it isn’t a virus, and they don’t all spread.”

“Some of them spread?”

“Well, we do have  _some_  viral artifacts. The point is, you don’t get infected, you get affected, but sometimes the effects are, well, peculiar, like glowing-”

“Transforming into glass? Hearing music in your head?”

“Exactly. So it’s whammied. And for the record, the term has been around since Warehouse 6.” John’s brain had to take a moment to process the idea of other versions of the Warehouse, but it just created more questions, so he kept to the subject at hand.

“Fine. Whammied. Now, why didn’t you tell Mycroft?” Sherlock rolled his eyes. John smiled, knowing he was changing the subject on purpose.

“Well, as you insisted, you are my partner for this case. Might as well, how does the phrase go? ‘Cover each other’s backs’?”

“Yes, well. Thank you.” John said awkwardly. “Well, I guess we have a big day tomorrow, I better get to bed.” He said as he stood up, picked up both their unfinished containers and put them in the fridge. He turned to face Sherlock who was about to stand until he remembered his leg. “Oh, sorry, you can take the ice off, here, let me.” He said as he walked back to him. He took off the cold press and looked at the skin underneath, rubbing it gently to feel the inflammation. Looking up at Sherlock, he could see him leaning stiffly back in his chair, his hands gripping the arm rests tightly. “Are you alright? Does it hurt?”

“No, it’s fine, thank you.” Sherlock breathed as John moved away to dump the melted ice into the sink.

“You need help getting to your room?” He asked from the kitchen doorway.

“No, I’m fine. I might kip on the sofa anyway.” Sherlock said with a wave of his hand.

“You should sleep in your bed for your ankle.” John insisted as he crossed his arms.

“Fine.” Sherlock conceded with an eye roll. “I promise I’ll sleep in my bed, doctor.”

“Good. Well, have a good night then, Sherlock.” John said awkwardly before turning and walking up the stairs.

Sherlock murmured to the empty room as he heard John’s door close. “Good night, John.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed :D


	4. The decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, I am fully aware that the layout of King’s Cross is not as described in this chapter ;P

John woke up less disoriented the second morning in 221b. He stared at the ceiling, remembering yesterday’s events. He tried not to think about why he was in such a good mood, wondering instead what could possibly happen today.

Endless wonder. No shit. Well, it seemed Mycroft’s words were spot on.

John got out of bed and took a moment to look at his shoulder. He couldn’t see anything, no scars, but when he rolled his shoulders, he just felt something was off. No pain, no actual difference, more like a phantom sensation, as if his muscles remembered being pierced.

Once dressed, he came down to find Sherlock and Mycroft sitting in the living room.

“Good morning John.” Mycroft said to him as he stepped into the room.

“Morning.” John greeted them as he walked to the kettle. He didn’t feel that grumpy, but waking up to his boss,  _temporary boss_ , every morning wasn’t really the best way to keep him cheery. “No appearing out of thin air this morning?” He asked over his shoulder as he filled the kettle.

“I thought you would appreciate the gesture.” Mycroft retorted.

“You just chose to ignore the ‘after coffee’ part.” John added, turning it on and leaning against the counter, his arms crossed, facing the brothers.

“We have a matter at hand that requires me to omit that particular clause.” Mycroft told them.

“What did the owner say?” John asked as he straightened up.

“Nothing useful at the moment. Everything is in the file.” Mycroft explained as he pointed to the folder he had previously handed to Sherlock. “I’ll leave you to your work.” He stood, umbrella in hand. “I almost forgot; congratulations, John.”

“What for?” he asked suspiciously, a bit stunned as to why Mycroft would say such a thing.

“Two artifacts your first time in the field, that’s quite a feat.” Mycroft said with a sly smile.

“Yeah.” John answered tightly as he looked to Sherlock for a clue as to what to say. Had Mycroft guessed what had happened with the second one or had he just seen they had brought back two?

“Who got whammied?” Mycroft inquired looking from one to the other.

“How-?” John started asking but was cut off by Sherlock.

“He can feel when artifacts have been activated.” Sherlock explained almost automatically. The younger Holmes had known it was a question of time before Mycroft found out. He always did. Mycroft kept telling Sherlock there was no use in hiding anything from him, but when he was bored, Sherlock sometimes tried to see how much messing with the artifacts in the warehouse it took until Mycroft called him.

“Caretaker thing?” John asked Sherlock when Mycroft intervened.

“Yes, one of the perks of being Caretaker. So I take it you were the one affected?” Mycroft asked John who nodded soberly. “Stabbed by a glass blade  _and_  walked in Beethoven’s shoes on your first day.” John’s eyebrows shot up at the mitigated description of yesterday’s events but chose not to argue. “How do you like being an agent so far?” Mycroft added.

“Well, I’m not bored.” John answered truthfully. But it wasn’t the whole truth. He knew what Mycroft was trying to do. The case wasn’t finished. John didn’t want Mycroft to know he had started doubting his desire to go back to his team. He just... He didn’t want to think about it. Not right now. Not this morning with barely enough caffeine to deal with both brothers. He just wanted to focus on the case.

“Good. That’s good, isn’t it?” Mycroft answered smiling, turning from John to Sherlock, who kept his head lowered, his attention on the open file before him, but Mycroft saw his eyes flicker towards John. “Well, I’ll let you to get to it.”

“I need the Warehouse computer.” Sherlock announced as he closed the file and stood. John remembered his sprain.

“How’s the ankle?”

“Fine. Come on.”

“I still need to-” John started but Sherlock cut him off.

“Skip the shower, there’s food and tea at the office.” He told him as he put on his coat.

“Are you always this bossy?”

“No time, John.” Sherlock said as he turned with a swirl of his coat and disappeared through the door frame.

“Why do I bother asking?” John muttered at the empty room, only just realising Mycroft had vanished. Sighing loudly, he took turned off the kettle, grabbed his coat and followed Sherlock. 

* * *

 

He had been at the Warehouse computer for half an hour already, muttering to himself. John had acquainted himself with the few facilities the Warehouse offered. A small fridge that looked like it predated WW2. A toaster, kettle and microwave were all he had to work with. He should have guessed there wasn’t any milk. Grunting loudly, he sat in the twin of the chair he had claimed as his own in 221b, looking over the file as he sipped his tea. The pawn shop owner who had stabbed John was named Tim Cridley. He had been in debt because of a gambling problem and had gone looking for a high paying side job, quick money for some possible shady work. He had started asking around and one evening, someone had slipped a phone into his pocket. The call he had gotten told him that they had heard he had some dept they could help him with. They had agreed to meet in a coffee shop two blocks from his shop. John frowned when he read that that was all the man remembered. Next thing he’d known, he had had an envelope in his pockets with a burner phone and a pair of latex gloves. There had also been strict instructions to go to King’s Cross to collect objects in a locker with those gloves. Then he had to take back whatever he would find to sell in his shop with a promise that money was going to be transferred directly into his account. It had been going on for the past two years. John was surprised it hadn’t been on Sherlock’s radar before. Then again, Mycroft had said he had been looking into it personally.

“So we have whoever is putting the artifacts in the locker on CCTV?”

“In theory yes, but we don’t know when they did the drops, so going through the past two years’ tapes is going to take a while. And there’s always a possibility that they make use of an artifact to take out the CCTV.” Sherlock answered, his eyes still on the screens in front of him.

“I’m guessing you have a theory as to why Tim Cridley has holes in his memory?”

“An artifact, obviously.”

“Of course.” John answered sarcastically. He was beginning to suspect there was an artifact for everything. “Isn’t there a way to undo it?”             

“For that we need to know what was used and we need to actually have that artifact to neutralize it.”

“Ok. So are you going through the CCTV footage?”

“No, Mycroft’s minions are on it.”

“And what are you doing?”

“I’m going through every ping we’ve had in that area in the last two years.”

“And how’s that coming along?”

“I need more time.” Sherlock answered. John could hear the frustration in his voice.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He asked, wanting to feel useful.

“Not at the moment, no.” Sherlock answered, clearly brushing him off. After what had happened yesterday, John didn’t quite know how to react to his partner.  _Temporary partner_. A bit irritated, John finished his tea and stood, taking out his mobile as he walked towards the balcony. Might as well call back Neeson while he waited.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock questioned, his attention still on the screens. John stopped moving and breathed slowly before turning.

“A phone call.”

“To whom?”

“What’s it to you?” The soldier riposted. Sherlock’s eyes flickered towards John, looking him up and down quickly.

“Another member of your team, hum.” The agent deduced before turning back to the screens.

“How-?” Watson started to ask when Sherlock cut him off.

“There’s no reception in here.” He mentioned. John frowned.

“But you use the Farnsworth in here all the time.” He replied, pointing towards the Warehouse. Sherlock finally looked at John like he was explaining something to a child.

“Yes, because the Farnsworth is made to communicate through any materials, no matter the thickness, or, say, a communication scrambling field, in which you are presently standing.” Sherlock stated before turning back to the screens. John looked down at his phone and confirmed he wasn’t getting any reception. He closed his eyes, attempting to control his urge to bash the man.

“Ok, and what is the range of the field?”

“You have to go outside.”

“Right.” He said as he moved towards the latch door leading to the elevator. Sherlock spoke again before he had made it out.

“You can’t say anything.”

“What?” Surprised by what he was hearing, John turned to look at Sherlock.

“About the Warehouse. We don’t exist.” He answered, turning his head lightly to speak over his shoulder. John remembered Mycroft’s words during their first meeting. Absolutely no disclosure.

“Right.” What was he suppose to tell Neeson, John wondered as he opened the door.

“Bring back some milk.” He heard Sherlock call behind him.

“Fuck off.” John answered without looking back, the door closing loudly behind him. 

* * *

 

 

John left the Diogenes club and just started walking. He didn’t care where he went, he just needed to walk. The living, breathing ego he was supposed to call a partner was seriously topping everything he had encountered in the army. But he had to admit Sherlock’s attitude reminded him of a posh version of Jones. The thought made John smile. Well, big ego’s were sort of endearing after a while. It just seemed some took a longer period to get used to. And he had to admit that last night was rather nice. Well, the whole day actually. Fucking ridiculous. How he wished he could tell Neeson about it. Breathing in slowly, John immerged from his thoughts and looked around at where he had ended up. He saw a small park down the street he was on. He sat on a bench and took out his mobile.

“John, hey.” Neeson said as he picked up.

“Sorry I didn’t call you back sooner.” John apologised, relieved the call hadn’t gone to voicemail.

“Don’t worry about it. So...ended up suspended, huh?”

“Yeah.” John said, trying to hide his smile. If only he knew.

“How you holdin’ up?” Neeson asked. John thought of everything that had happened since Qatar.

“Surprisingly ok.” Was all John found to say. After all, it was true in some way.

“What’s her name?” Neeson teased. John was taken aback by the insinuation, and completely ignored the images his brain was unhelpfully providing him. What was actually going on was so far off from what Neeson was thinking.

Then again, even if he had been allowed to tell his mate, the whole thing sounded completely unreal, so Neeson probably wouldn’t have believed him anyway.

“What? No, no, nothing like that.” John answered. But he couldn’t explain. He should have thought of what to say before calling.

“John. You go mad when you’re at home. We’ve been on the phone for more than 15 seconds and I haven’t heard you complain about being suspended, or curse the living hell out of our superiors,” The man at the other end of the line hesitated before continuing. “and you aren’t hung-over. So. What’s her name?” John closed his eyes, cursing his brain for suggesting to answer  _Sherlock_.

It was true in a way. The Warehouse was the reason he wasn’t halfway out of his mind by now. Sherlock was just a part of it, since John had ended up living with him. In the past 24 hours, they had pretty much spent every waking moment together. Shaking his head, John tried to think of a suitable answer for Neeson.

“It’s not what you think, look, I’ve got to go.” He blurted out.

“We’ve just started talking. And you called me.” Neeson remarked drily.

“Look, I’m sorry, I should have picked a better time to call you back.” John said, leaning his elbows on his knees, his free hand rubbing his forehead.

“John? What’s going on?” Neeson insisted. Shit, now he was getting suspicious. John really should have planned this.

“Nothing, nothing, I just have to go.”

“Even over the phone you’re a terrible liar. What’s going on? Is it your suspension?”

“Neeson, there’s nothing to worry about.” John pleaded.

“Bullshit.” Neeson’s tone was clear. John knew there was nothing he could do to change his mind.

“I’m in London, I’m fine, I swear.” John reassured.

“Sure?”

“Yes.” He answered confidently. He didn’t like to admit it, but he really was ok. Even though the circumstances in which he had ended up as a Warehouse agent had been iffy, just thinking about telling Neeson where he was and what had happened was giving him the urge to laugh uncontrollably. No, he certainly wasn’t bored or going of his mind. The memories of last night, sitting on the floor after neutralizing the clock bust, the relief he had felt when he had heard Sherlock’s voice... Thinking about it now, Sherlock had seemed honestly worried when they had been about to neutralize the artifact. And he had hidden the incident from Mycroft, for, well, for as long as he could. The image of Sherlock leaning against the ramp, dishevelled and smiling flashed through John’s mind. Shaking his head, he leaned back on the bench. “Ok, I should go.”

“You know you can trust me, John?”

“I know.”

“So there is something?”

“Neeson...” John said in a tone that clearly indicated to stop insisting.

“But you’re ok?”

“I’m fine.”

“Alright.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” Neeson said before John cut the line. For a moment he sat there, looking at the phone in his hands. He could’ve said that he had been transferred to another team or something, but since this was only for one case, there wasn’t any reason to alarm anyone. John felt something in him react at the thought of leaving the Warehouse. Where else would he be able to go on these types of missions? And compared to the Special Forces, the Warehouse was more of a prevention team than a covert force. John preferred the idea of prevention instead of last resort action.

Who was he kidding? John was curious to see what else was out there. Just going around the Warehouse was a thrill. And yes, Sherlock was probably the biggest prat on earth, but he was brilliant! Rubbing his face in his hands again, John stood up and started to walk back the Diogenes club. He didn’t have to make a decision now, the case wasn’t finished. Might as well get on with it, John thought, pushing back the lingering feeling of longing. Crossing the street, he noticed a Tesco on his way. Remembering the milk and even though he felt like a fool, he went in. 

* * *

 

“God this is tedious. It’s taking too long.” John heard Sherlock whine as he came into the office, walking over to the fridge to put the milk away.

“Still nothing?”

“Good deduction there.” Sherlock said sarcastically.

“Why don’t we just go look at the locker?”

“There’s probably nothing there.”

“Well it’s not like we have anything better to do. Unless you have a better suggestion?” John asked, crossing his arms. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock threw his arms in the air and stood up.

“Fine.” He added, shrugging into his coat.

“Such a drama queen.” John said under his breath as he followed him out the door. 

* * *

 

As they stepped out of the cab, Sherlock directed his gaze across the street from King’s Cross, and flipped up his collar. They turned, looking around without speaking, for anything out of place, any trace of surveillance besides CCTV. They entered the tube station, moving slowly through the crowd.

“Lockers are that way.” John pointed left.

“Coffee?” Sherlock asked as they walked towards the storage facilities.

“What?”

“I want coffee.” Sherlock clarified, striding towards a café that was located across from the locker areas.

“What are we doing?” John felt he needed to ask because this felt like a bad spy movie.

“Reconnaissance.” Definitely a bad spy movie.

“Shouldn’t we bag the possible artifact and look around after?”

“Not yet. The perpetrator must have a way of knowing when Mr. Cridley picks it up, so if we go now it’d be like sounding the alarm.” Sherlock explained as they stood in line at the coffee shop.

“We don’t even know if there’s anything in there. It’s like Schrödinger’s artifact. Why wait? The locker is probably empty. And it’s not like someone will just happen to drop off something while we’re here.” John argued but Sherlock ignored him and walked up to the barista.

“Two coffees please. Cream or sugar?” He asked John who simply stared at him in disbelief. 

* * *

 

“How are they procuring the artifacts anyway?” John asked as they walked away from the counter, coffee in hand.

“Black market mostly.” Sherlock replied, striding to a free table, his eyes looking past John as he scanned the crowd.

“Yeah, but how could anyone come to know about these things? Or actually  _believe_  they could exist for real?” The soldier mimicked the agent, his trained eye looking for any possible threat.

“There are rumors of objects with special properties.”

“Don’t you monitor the black market?”

“Yes and no. We mainly intercept the artifacts that cause trouble.”

“Why just those?”

“Artifacts are... they have an organic aspect to them, they thrive on the human connection, since it is because of  _that_  connection that they exist. And, well, the caretaker is by definition the expert on this, but when an artifact is created, we don’t immediately take them. Just because they exist, doesn’t mean they are bad or harm anyone. It usually stays with the person it’s connected to until they pass away. Why separate them if they don’t cause any harm?”

“But you said there’s always a down side.”

“Yes, well, tricky business this job. And to be fair, I can’t be everywhere at once.”

“So you  _are_  short staffed.” John affirmed as he glanced at the man in front of him.

“That’s not what I said.” Sherlock answered drily as he eyed the soldier sideways.

“But it’s what you meant.” The soldier argued, scanning the crowd and holding back his smile.

“Are you saying you’re interested?” Sherlock questioned. Their eyes met briefly. John caught himself wondering if he meant interested in him or the job. Damnit, what Neeson had suggested was getting to him.

“That’s not what I said.” He denied.

“But it’s what you meant.” Sherlock countered. He rolled his eyes at having walked himself into a corner. The agent’s face was neutral but the soldier could see the glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Can we just go look at the locker?” He said pushing aside his half empty coffee. Sherlock looked past him, a small smile on his lips. “Look, we could be here on stakeout all week, but we’re going to have to check if there’s anything dangerous in there eventually and I think that with what I’ve seen so far, sooner is probably better.” The soldier hid his discomfort when Sherlock started staring with narrowed eyes. It’s as if he were looking for something he didn’t seem to be able to find. His eyes flicked back towards their destination.

“Come on.” Sherlock said as he walked towards the storage, his coat swinging behind him. John followed him, irritated that Sherlock wasn’t acknowledging he was right. They walked slowly to the locker section, with Sherlock looking everywhere, the floor, the ceiling, the surrounding area. John looked up at the cameras, taking note of what they could see. Sherlock had been right: Going through all the footage without an exact time frame was going to take a while.

“Which number again?” John asked as he looked at the lockers on either side of him.

“S42D.”

The Captain could feel his hackles rising as they approached the right locker. It was further down the row, far enough from the busy crowds walking down the alley to provide some sense of privacy, but still easily seen. Sherlock took out purple latex gloves and handed a pair to John.

“Just in case.” Sherlock added as he examined the locker door closely while putting on his gloves. Then he looked at the lock.

“You’re not going to pick it, are you?” John asked as he looked up at the cameras.

“Well, that’s one option. Another is an artifact.”

“As in?”

“A hammer and chisel owned by Auguste Rodin. It has the power to reveal shapes inside other objects.”

“And what’s the down side?”

“Only use it on  _inanimate_  objects.”

“Right. Well, unless you have something that will stop us from being seen by the cameras, I suggest you use the option that will be seen as the least suspicious.” John answered, doing his best to act normal while Sherlock was taking said hammer and chisel out of his coat. How much storage did that coat have? John wondered as Sherlock placed the chisel on the locker door and gently tapped it with the hammer. A wave went from the tip of the chisel and resonated throughout the locker door out to the entire locker section it was attached to.

“Shit.” John cursed as everything single object inside of the entire section started glowing and their outline could be seen through the metal. Mostly suitcases and bags, but John didn’t take much time to look at everything there. Not only the locker they were targeting was in fact empty, they were attracting too much attention. With a quick glance at each other, they moved to the back of the row, hiding themselves from the crowd, but they were still on camera.

“Lock picking not looking so bad right now, huh?” Sherlock told him smugly. John looked at him in disbelief, wondering if it was worth mentioning to him how it really wasn’t the moment to gloat.

“How long is it going to keep glowing?” John opted to ask instead.

“It should end soon. I think.”  

“I’m starting to get why using artifacts in everyday life isn’t the best idea.”

“Really? After getting stabbed and going deaf, it’s  _now_  you catch on?”

“Shut up, we have to leave, now.” John said turning to look towards the alley.

 He turned back towards Sherlock, who was now pointing his Tesla at him.

 “John-” Sherlock said in a strangled voice, his body visibly strained, a panicked look in his eye.

“Sherlock, what-” John blurted out but was cut off.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise? It’s been a while, Johnny boy.” John heard a voice coming from the far end of the locker section. That voice. The soldier knew that voice, but he hadn’t heard it in years. He shouldn’t be hearing it, not with what had happened the last time he’d heard it. Looking at the Tesla pointed at him, he slowly moved aside to try and get a clear view of the source. Stepping out of a row further down was a tall man dressed in combat pants and a hoodie, his head covered with a cap that hid his eyes. Once he was standing in the middle of the row, he lifted his head, his gaze finding John’s and he smiled wickedly.

“Manning.” John stated, dumbfounded. He stared at him, lost for words. He didn’t notice Sherlock struggling to try and turn and look at the man and didn’t pay attention to the riding crop Manning was holding.

“John?” Sherlock spoke quietly, silently asking him who that man was, but John ignored him.

“Johnny boy.” Manning said in an almost tender way. “How’ve you been, Johnny boy?”

“How-?” John started to ask but he was at a loss for words and he didn’t want them to know how agitated he really felt.

“I know, I should have called, but I must say the look of surprise on your face is priceless. This is just the opening number, wait till you see the finale.” Manning said, tightening his grip on the riding crop. Sherlock, who had been holding the Tesla with both hands, let one go and grabbed John’s shoulder to push him down, forcing him to put a knee on the floor. Sherlock held him there, the Tesla now pointed at his right temple. “Pretty cool, huh?” Manning added, grinning with malicious glee, taking a few steps towards them.

“I can’t fight it, John, the riding crop; it has complete control over my body.” Sherlock said, trying to sound calm but his eyes were betraying him.

“What do you want?” John spat to Manning, who approached the kneeling man, tightening his grip again. Slowly, Sherlock’s hand moved from John’s shoulder to his neck, his long fingers wrapped around his throat and pressed hard enough to cut off most of his air. Mortified by what his body was doing, the agent could only look at his partner suffocate by his own hand.

“I want lots of things, but right now, do you know what I really want?” Manning asked the soldier, his eyes spiteful. The man chuckled before whispering into Watson’s ear. “I want you to watch your partner die.” His head moved back and he watched John gasp for air. “Him and everybody else in here.” He added before backing away and loosening his hold on the riding crop. Sherlock’s grip on John’s neck released, his body screaming for oxygen.

“Why? Why kill innocent people?” Sherlock demanded, his frustration growing from not being able to control his own body.

“Our little Johnny here likes it. And here I thought you’d appreciate the touch of drama.” Manning answered the agent with a smile.

“What happened to you?” John wheezed.

“I died!” The man spat back. “Don’t you remember? You were there. It was you who ordered us to go in there while you held back. You knew we‘d get caught, didn’t you?”

“No!” John croaked as best he could with panicked eyes.

“Me, Gote and Andrews. You killed us.” Manning affirmed as he placed the tip of the crop against his chest to keep it bent as he took a box out of his coat with his free hand. Sherlock’s eyes scanned the box, knowing it wasn’t an ordinary one. He could see a picture on the lid, a growling black cat. He made out the word  _KOTIK_  beneath it.

“I didn’t know.” John muttered feebly. Sherlock could see John was horrified with what the man was accusing him of.

“It was your fault in Taiwan, and it’s going to be your fault here, when everything in this station blows up.” Manning told John as he approached Sherlock. The soldier was struggling to grasp what had happened to the man he had used to know, how it could be possible for him to be standing here, linked to an artifact rig of all things. But the gravity of what he was threatening to do made him put aside his questions and try and find a way to reduce the civilian casualties.

“Why don’t you just kill me?” John pleaded.

“Where would the fun be in that?” Manning retorted with a creepy smile as he pressed the box down on the span of Sherlock’s hand that holding the Tesla.

“You sick bastard.” John choked. He had no idea what was about to happen, but he had learned enough in the last 48 hours to know that whatever that thing was, it was bad.

“Now now, it’s bad luck to curse the dead.” Manning told John as the artifact touched Sherlock’s skin, the image transferring from the box onto his hand, sliding up his arm. Sherlock couldn’t help but hiss in pain, struggling against the hold the riding crop had over his body. Manning smiled as he put the box back into his coat pocket and tightened his grip on the riding crop. Sherlock tried in vain to fight it as he watched his hand strangle his partner again. Manning bent down to the soldier fighting for air. “It was nice seeing you again Johnny Boy. Too bad we don’t have more time to catch up.” John stared up and smiled. “What’s so funny?” Manning asked.  _Manning didn’t know_. He had no clue that after they had last seen each other, John didn’t care anymore. He didn’t have anything left to lose...

Even though John had a gun to his head and was being strangled, that wouldn’t prevent him from risking his life to stop this asshole. He was smiling because he still had his hands and feet free and Manning was in range. Using everything he had, the soldier tripped Sherlock, making him fall and loose his grip on his throat. He then quickly rose up and kicked Manning, aiming for his chest, knowing he would hit his hands on the way, freeing the riding crop. The man stumbled backwards from the force of the kick, his shoulders hitting the lockers behind him, preventing him from falling to the floor. As soon as the crop left his hands, Sherlock turned and aimed at Manning, beads of sweat forming at his temples. He could see the riding crop lying in the middle of the row. He also noticed the box had fallen out of his coat and had slid further down towards the crowded the alley.  John looked from Manning to the crop, deciding to go for it. He slid across the floor and grabbed the artifact, the purple gloves contrasting with the black leather. John looked up and was blinded by the light coming from the shot Sherlock had just taken at Manning who had started to run away.

“Shit.” Sherlock cursed, having missed him. Still lying on the floor, John looked at the crop in his hands and bent it as he concentrated on the man running away. “It won’t work.” Sherlock told John as he leaned against the lockers, looking exhausted. “You’ve got gloves on.”

“Fuck!” John exclaimed as he stood up, wanting to run after him, but when he took one look at Sherlock he knew something was terribly wrong. “Sherlock, what was that thing he put on you? Are you ok?” Still holding the riding crop, he moved to Sherlock’s side.

“I’ve been better. Bit hot.” He answered as he tugged at his shirt collar. John pressed the back of his hand against his forehead.   

“You’re burning up. Here, we have to move, that shot wasn’t subtle.”

“I missed, I shouldn’t have missed.” Sherlock uttered feebly.

“It doesn’t matter; we have to neutralize this, whatever it is. We need to get out of here before security comes.” The soldier said as he put Sherlock’s arm around his shoulders and helped him walk towards the crowded alley.

“John-” Sherlock started only to be cut off by his own grunt of pain. Instead he pointed towards the box Manning had dropped. John carefully let Sherlock lean against the locker before bending down to pick it up and put it in his coat pocket before they continued moving.

“Damn.” John cursed as he saw two security guards on their right walking towards them. He tried to act naturally as he turned left.

“Use the barometer. We both have to touch it so we don’t get affected.” Sherlock said in a strained voice, his hand slipping into his coat and taking out the artifat. He watched John as he quickly slid off one glove and open it like a pocket watch, only the barometer inside lifted up, making a sort of triangle shape with the base, the lid and the barometer. Sherlock placed his hand over John, his fingertips touching the contour of the Barometer and nodded. John pressed the button on the side and everything froze.  _Everything_. John stood there a moment, mesmerized by the vision.

“Holy shit.” The soldier exclaimed when he saw a coffee falling to the floor frozen mid-air. He looked back and saw the security guards behind them, also immobile but clearly having spotted them.

“John, there isn’t much time.” Sherlock insisted, his hand dropping from the artifact as he swayed on his feet.

“Right.” The soldier answered, shaking his head as they kept moving. “How long does it last again?”

“47 seconds.” John could feel the heat radiating off Sherlock at an alarming rate.

“Sherlock, what did he put on you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you recognize the symbol?”

“No, but the word, Kotik, it’s familiar-” Sherlock started but his legs gave in under him.

“Sherlock!” John exclaimed, moving to grab him with both arms so he wouldn’t fall to the floor, cursing the riding crop in his other hand. Looking around, John knew they didn’t have much choice than to hide in the nearest place possible. “Come on.” He urged Sherlock, helping him stand straight. “In there.” He nodded towards the book store on their left. They moved as best they could through the frozen crowd into the book store, spotting the door with  _back store/personnel only_  written on it. Just as John closed the door behind them, the noises outside indicated everything was coming back to life, as if nothing had happened. He knew it really did feel that way. You don’t feel a thing, don’t miss a beat. John closed the door and locked it, then turned to approach Sherlock and check his temperature again. Beads of sweat were rolling down his face and along the side of his neck; he was flushed and looked terribly out of shape.

“You’re burning up way too quickly; this isn’t good for your body. We have to stabilize your temperature or you’re going to die.”

“Neutralize the box.” Sherlock answered, moving slowly to pull out a neutralizing bag.

“Right.” John answered as he took out the box and dropped it into the open bag Sherlock was holding; nothing happened. “Fuck.” John swore as he looked up at Sherlock who put aside the box and took out a jar containing the same purple goo as at the Warehouse and handed it to John.

“Try covering it with this.” Sherlock said as he started to take off his coat and unbutton his shirt.

“Isn’t it going to hurt?”

“Better than what it’s doing to me right now.” Sherlock answered as he pulled of his shirt, and turned his back to John who saw what could only be described as a tattoo on Sherlock’s left shoulder blade. The same image that had been on the box. Only now it had an orange glow to it that was in no way reassuring. John opened the jar and attempted to pour some over the tattoo, but it moved to a different place on his back.

“Oh come on.”

“What?”

“It moves when I try to neutralize it.”

“Try harder.”

“It’s not like this is my specialty.” John answered back, frustrated and trying to think of a solution. He tried again and again to pour the purple goo over the tattoo, only to see it move on a different part of Sherlock’s body every time. John put down the jar and gently probed the tattoo with his gloved fingers, taking note that it wasn’t moving when he wasn’t trying to stop it. That’s when he realized what the only possible way to fix this was. “Sherlock, I know what to do.”

“Then do it!” Sherlock ordered, without thinking. Had he known John was about to take off his latex glove and touch the tattoo, he would have stopped him, but as it was, he had his back turned. All he felt was a cool hand covering his shoulder blade and the pain and fever leave him suddenly. “What did you do!?” Sherlock cried out as he turned to see the image disappear under John’s cuff, clearly growing unsteady on his feet. “You idiot!”

“Shut up. I don’t have the experience or the knowledge to deal with this thing. But you do, so shut your mouth and find a way to stop whatever this thing is doing to me.” John explained as he picked up Sherlock’s shirt and gave it to him, very actively trying not to look at his chest.

“You’re right, that is a good plan.” Sherlock remarked as he took the shirt and put it back on before taking out his phone to type Kotik into the Warehouse database, buttoning up while he waited for the results. “Oh no.” He said as he looked them over.

“No. No, don’t say  _oh no_ , why are you saying  _oh no_?”

“I knew Kotik sounded familiar. It’s Russian, it means cat, the tattoo is the symbol of a Russian terrorist group from the 19th century called People’s Will.”

“Oh no.”

“According to the database, all the members had this symbol tattooed on their left shoulder blade. The tattoo artist, to whom this box is rumored to belong, was one of the leading members, Ignaty Gryniewietsky.”

“Do I want to know what he did?”

“He assassinated Tsar Alexander II.”

“Oh course it bloody is. Let me guess; with a bomb?”

“Yes.”

“So, what are you saying? I’m a bomb now?”

“Apparently so.”

“A tattoo that transforms people into suicide bombers, this just keeps getting better and better. So how much time have we got?”

“Well, that depends on the symptoms you’re experiencing. How do you feel?”

“Who the fuck cares how I feel, fix this!”

“Alright, calm now, no need to get cranky.”

“I’m a fucking bomb! I think I’m allowed to be cranky!”

“Calm down, the negative emotion could make it work faster.”

“That is complete and utter bullshit.” John spat back, only to feel his blood pressure rise and a heat wave surge through him. “Ok, ok, I’ll calm down.” He said as he tried to control his breathing, but the steadily rising temperature was making him pant.

“Take off your shirt, I need to see it.” Sherlock said as he moved forward to start undressing John. Taken aback, it took him a moment to push Sherlock’s hands away and to do it himself, turning his back to him. “It looks like it’s activated by your body heat.”

“You think?” John remarked sarcastically as he swiped the sweat off his forehead.

“Stay calm.” Sherlock repeated. “We can’t cover you in goo, we don’t have enough.” Sherlock began to think out loud, looking John over, probing the symbol with his gloved fingers. “So the tattoo moves to protect itself from damage, but when he-” John turned when Sherlock stopped speaking. “Oh!” he exclaimed before stretching over John to grab the bagged box.

“What are you?-” John started to ask but Sherlock made him turn away from him again. John looked over his shoulder to try and watch as best he could.

“The box, John.” Sherlock said as he took it out of the neutralizing bag and inspected it, before pressing the lid against the tattoo. Immediately John felt the fever leave him.

“Oh thank god.” John breathed out.

“A leather box. Clever.” Sherlock mused as he looked at the tattoo on the lid before slipping it into the bag where it sparked before it stopped glowing. He turned to John who was leaning against the wall, head tilted up, his eyes closed, still trying to catch his breath.

“Really? That thing almost blew us up and you’re calling it clever?” The soldier asked breathily, lifting an eyelid to look at the agent.

“I-” The dark haired man was at a loss for words when the door leading out into the book shop rattled. They both turned towards it and back to each other. “This way.” Sherlock whispered as he silently moved towards the far side of the back store as whoever was at the door started knocking. John picked up his shirt and coat and slid them on as he followed.

“Who’s in there? This door shouldn’t be locked. Jane? Where are the keys?” They heard the voice move away. Sherlock headed straight for the emergency exit.

“What are you doing?” John whispered as he saw the sign over the door. “We’re sure to get caught if we open that door.”

“And dealing with the store manager is better?”

“Don’t you have some sort of mind wipe thing?”

“No, but I have a no alarm  _thing_ ” Sherlock answered irritably as he took out a pentagon with an old metallic finish about the size of a grapefruit.

“And what is that?” John asked as Sherlock was placing it on the control box above the door. As soon as it touched the surface, it seemed to stick to it like a magnet, and the whole system went offline instantly.

“It’s called The Eclipse.” Sherlock explained, opening the lock just as they heard the door leading to the shop open. “Come on.” He added as he pushed the door open wider to let John out before grabbing the Eclipse and slipping out, closing the exit door quietly behind him.

They were a couple of hundred yards away from the main entrance and John finished buttoning his shirt and coat as they walked briskly away from the station. He saw Sherlock take a look behind them, smiling slyly as he flipped his coat collar up and tucked away the artifact.

“So how does that thing work?” John asked, trying his best to keep up with the tall man’s strides.

“Not sure.”

“What you just stick it to the alarm and it just stops?”

“Yup.”

“For how long?”

“42 minutes 59 seconds.”

“Why 42 minutes 59 seconds?”

“It’s the run time of Dark Side of the Moon.” The agent explained as they reached the street.

“What, by Pink Floyd?” John questioned in disbelief.

“Yes. Taxi!” Sherlock called, lifting his arm to wave down a cab.

“That is absolutely ridiculous.” John said as a cab stopped in front of them and they quickly climbed in. Sherlock gave the address of the Diogenes club. They both looked around to make sure they weren’t being followed. After a couple of minutes, having both calmed down a bit; John could feel Sherlock staring again.

“What?” The soldier asked, still looking out the window.

“Who was that?” Sherlock interrogated. John’s mood darkened at the mention of their bomber.

“Manning.” John pronounced the name like acid.

“Yes I got that part, care to elaborate?”

“He...” John started but stopped and turned towards the agent. “Don’t you have access to my file?”

“I do, but I took one look at you and I knew all I needed to know, why bother reading it?”

“You got all you needed with a look?”

“Army doctor, left handed, alcohol problem, with an unhealthy attraction to danger and nothing to lose. I saw everything I needed to know in Qatar.”

“Bullshit. You read my file.”

“I didn’t. Who is he?”

“Not here. At the Warehouse.” John ended the discussion, looking at the driver in the rear view mirror.

“Fine.” Sherlock muttered, taking out his Farnsworth, not speaking for the cab ride back. John was grateful for some silence to clear his head. He was still a bit shocked from seeing a man he had believed to be dead for the past 4 years. He kept running through the events in his mind again and again, it didn’t make any sense for him to still be alive. 

* * *

 

“So?” Sherlock asked as they walked into the office, snapping the riding crop onto the desk. John sighed heavily and walked over to his sitting chair.

“He... He used to be on my team. Well, my last team.”

“The one he claimed were all dead?” John rubbed his face in his hands at Sherlock’s lack of tact.

“That would be the one, yes.” Mycroft cut in, standing by the desk, fiddling with his umbrella. John suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at yet another dramatic entrance.

“Why are you here?” The doctor demanded. “Wait did you know about him?” His tone was dangerous. If Mycroft had brought John to the Warehouse knowing about Manning coming back from the dead, evil and all...

“No John, we didn’t know about Manning.” He said reassuringly before moving on quickly. “And did you really think I wouldn’t monitor the CCTV of King’s Cross?”

“How much of it did you see?” Sherlock asked as he sat down in his sitting chair.

“Everything until the barometer, then both of you coming out the back of a book store.”

“What about Manning? Did you catch him?” John asked quickly. Mycroft looked at him knowingly before answering.

“We followed the man on CCTV out of the station and then we lost him on Belgrove street.”

“Shit!” John swore as stood to pace around the office. “Shit shit shit!” He continued, kicking one of the chairs around the table which tumbled loudly across the room.

“No matter, we’ll find him. We have our ways.” Mycroft said to try and calm the soldier. “However, I must admit I am curious as to why John came out of the book store buttoning up his shirt?” Mycroft looked smugly at his brother as he moved to sit in John’s now vacant seat.

“Because of this.” Sherlock handed him the box in the neutralizing bag, his tone revealing he was clearly not amused about his brother’s remark.

“Kotik.” Mycroft read aloud.

“Ignaty Gryniewietsky.” Sherlock told Mycroft.

“Mmm, yes.” His brother said knowingly, examining the artifact before turning to John. “Well, it must have been quite a surprise to see your old team member.” Mycroft stated, his gaze narrowing on John’s.

“That’s an understatement.” John growled, still pacing before he stopped short. “Why aren’t you more surprised that someone came back from the dead?”

“After a couple of years at the Warehouse John, the dead coming back to life is rather unremarkable in comparison to what we deal with on a daily basis.” Mycroft clarified, his eyes taking in the soldier’s distressed posture. John nodded slightly and continued pacing.

“Was he always this psychotic, Manning?” Sherlock asked him, irritated at being the only one in the room who wasn’t aware of what had happened to said previous team.

“Didn’t you read John’s file?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow at the agent.

“No, I did not.” He pouted, sitting back in his chair. Mycroft sat back and looked at the soldier expectantly. Moving his eyes from one man to the other, the soldier took a moment to think. He hadn’t told the story in years but the memory was still vivid. He rubbed his face with his hand and took a deep breath before speaking.

“We we’re sent to Taiwan to get some intel. We mostly did search and rescue back then, but once in a while we would go on intel missions. Manning hated those, said he wasn’t trained to take pictures for a living.”

“How many were you?” Sherlock inquired, his hands stippled under his chin.

“Four. Manning, Gote, Andrews and me. Manning was...” John corrected himself reluctantly. “ _is_  an expert shooter and trained in close combat. He held the front in search and rescue. Gote was responsible of electronics, that woman could hack into anything. Opened safes for fun. Andrews spoke 8 languages fluently, had a Masters in psychology and was a human lie detector. Fighting wasn’t his forte, but he could hold his own.”

“And you completed the team as their Captain: a good leader, field surgeon, shooter, good close combat fighter and always calm in the face of danger. A perfect search and rescue team.” Mycroft surmised. John’s eyes seemed to look far away at something that wasn’t there. He smiled sadly before continuing.

“We were sent to find evidence of a counterfeit aircrafts parts organisation. It had links with the black market, they were well along, selling parts all over the world, and you couldn’t tell the difference. We discovered the planes they were dismounting, the storage warehouse with all the parts, the equipment they were using to replace the serial numbers. We had taken pictures of everything. All was going along fine; we only had one more hanger to search. Gote took care of the door. Manning went in first, then Andrews, Gote, and I was about to follow them when I saw a guard outside, so I held back to take care of him. I approached him, hiding between two buildings. I knocked him out, dragged his unconscious body to where I was hiding. That’s when I heard the shots. I ran to the hanger, looked through the door and saw their bodies on the floor. The alarms went off. All I could do was run out of there. Andrews had most of the evidence on him, but with what I had, it was enough to take down the company and the underground rig in that city. Everything was ceased but they never found their bodies.”

“So he was dead and brought back to life, now coming after you with a taste for vengeance.” Sherlock summarised.

“Artifact?” John asked him.

“Most likely since he has access to them now. But I want to know  _who_  brought him back?”

“You don’t think he planned it himself?” Mycroft asked his brother.

“Not with the way he was accusing John of sending him to his death. No, someone else is involved here.” Sherlock explained.

“Why did he say it was your fault they died?” Mycroft inquired. John stopped pacing and looked out the office windows into the Warehouse.

“Because it is.” He answered softly, his face stricken with grief.

“How is it your fault?” Sherlock asked after a pause.

“We had enough evidence; we didn’t need to go to that last hanger.” John explained, still not looking at them.

“Your job was to investigate thoroughly, not get what you need and leave.” Mycroft told him.

“I should have been in there with them. I didn’t need to take out the guard.” John added, his body falling into parade rest, remembering the last time he told his superiors what happened.

“Yes, you did. He would have caught you eventually. John, it wasn’t your fault.” Mycroft’s words were an echo of what John’s superiors had said. But he couldn’t help his guilt. “Well, we have a new lead now.” The Caretaker said as he stood up, trying to lighten the mood. “Which is more than we’ve had in months. Good work both of you.”

“What’s the plan?” John asked, turning around to face them. Mycroft eyed his brother before speaking.

“John, I’m not sure it’s the best idea to-” Mycroft started to say but John cut him off.

“No. You’re not putting me aside. I’m going to find Manning and stop him if it’s the last thing I do.”

“John, you shouldn’t let your personal feelings-” Mycroft started but John cut him off.

“Oh, don’t give me that crap. Whether or not what happened was my fault, I’m not going to stand around and let a psychopath go around blowing up civilians. No. Either I do it on my own, or I do it as a Warehouse agent.”

“John, you shouldn’t make your choice to work here based on vengeance.” Mycroft remarked patiently, but John was having none of it.

“This isn’t vengeance! From what I’ve learned in the past few days, this job is about protecting people. Manning is part of an organisation that puts artifacts into circulation among the general population and you expect me to sit back and do nothing about it?  _You_  recruited me.  _You_  put me on this particular case that you said yourself was something you were taking care of personally. It lead us to come face to face with a man I believed to be dead and who personally blames me for it, and you expect me to become an agent for the  _right reasons_?” Mycroft looked at the soldier for a moment, weighing his words carefully.

“You do realise that if you become an agent, you can never reveal to anyone what you do?”

“You’ve read my file. I haven’t really got anyone to talk about this to. They’re all dead.” John spat.

“What about your present team?” Sherlock asked.

“The less they know, the safer they are.” John answered, his eyes full of resolve.

“Well. I would have preferred your decision to be made under different circumstances but nevertheless, happy to have you on the team.” The older Holmes concluded.

“So where do we start?” John repeated.

“At this point,  _you_  won’t do anything. We’re still filtering through the CCTV footage, and we have someone looking into where Manning was last seen. I have a new lead to follow up on. Consider this case closed for now.”

“Can’t we help with anything?” John pushed.

“You have helped plenty in the past two days. Take a few days off. This isn’t over, but you have to be patient.” Mycroft told the new agent. “I’ll leave you now. Good evening.” He concluded as he stood. “Agent Watson, Agent Holmes” He nodded, walking towards the elevator.

“What? No disappearing act?” John teased as he watched the caretaker move.

“It’s been a long day for all of us.” Mycroft answered quietly before leaving the office. John stood in the middle of the room with a worried look. Sherlock eyed him and spoke.

“I sleep odd hours. Sometimes I don’t speak for days. And I like to play violin when I think.” John’s head spun around.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked tiredly, taken at a loss to the relevance of what he was hearing.

“Warehouse agents should know the worst about each other.” Sherlock answered as he played with his shirt cuffs. John stared at him, grateful to see his new partner trying to distract him from focusing on Manning.

Yeah, John mused, he just needs a little more time to get used to.

“So you don’t mind having me as a partner anymore?”

“Well you did bring back milk.” Sherlock grinned making John chuckle. Clearing his throat, John was about to reply when the computer pinged loudly. Sherlock stood from his chair and walked rapidly towards the computer, John not far behind him.

“We’re going to Portugal.” Sherlock announced as he read the screen. “It looks like we have something to keep us busy while we wait for Manning to sneak out of his hole.” He told John with a glint in his eyes. “Come on.” He added as he stood and walked to get his coat. “The world needs to be saved, again.”

Even though John felt tired, physically as emotionally, the prospect of concentrating on finding an artifact came as a relief. He grabbed his coat and jogged to catch up to the office door slowly closing behind his new partner.

The word still felt odd to the soldier. Then again, being where he worked, odd was normal. And he was beginning to suspect he had only seen the tip of the iceberg.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed :D
> 
> Artifacts used/mentioned in this fic (in chronological order)  
> Click on link for additional information and pictures of the artifacts  
> *For story purposes, artifact proprieties may differ from the original description*  
> ***So as to not spoil the “season long” story, I will not post links for more information on the Warehouse or Warehouse linked places/characters***  
>    
> [Farnsworth](http://warehouse13.wikia.com/wiki/Artifact%3AFarnsworth)  
> [Barometer from the USS Eldridge](http://warehouse13.wikia.com/wiki/Barometer_from_the_USS_Eldridge_\(DE-173\))  
> [Neutralizer ](http://warehouse13.wikia.com/wiki/Neutralizer)  
> [Catherine O’Leary’s Cow bell](http://warehouse13.wikia.com/wiki/Catherine_O'Leary's_Cow_Bell)  
> [P.T. Barnum’s Top](http://warehouse13.wikia.com/wiki/P.T._Barnum's_Top)  
> [Thomas Edison’s Bioelectric Stagecoach](http://warehouse13.wikia.com/wiki/Thomas_Edison's_Bioelectric_Stagecoach)  
> [Howard Carter’s coffee pot](http://warehouse13.wikia.com/wiki/Howard_Carter's_Coffee_Pot)(Wish Granting Kettle)  
> [Tesla](http://warehouse13.wikia.com/wiki/Tesla)  
> [Cinderella’s glass knife](http://warehouse13.wikia.com/wiki/Cinderella's_Glass_Knife)  
> [Ludwig Van Beethoven’s Clock](http://warehouse13.wikia.com/wiki/Ludwig_van_Beethoven's_Clock)  
> [Auguste Rodin’s Hammer and Chisel](http://warehouse13.wikia.com/wiki/Auguste_Rodin's_Hammer_and_Chisel)  
> [Cecil B. DeMille’s Riding Crop](http://warehouse13.wikia.com/wiki/Cecil_B._DeMille's_Riding_Crop)  
> [Ignacy Hryniewiecki’s Tattoo Box](http://warehouse13.wikia.com/wiki/Ignacy_Hryniewiecki's_Tattoo_Box)  
> [The Eclipse](http://warehouse13.wikia.com/wiki/The_Eclipse)  
> Please note that I have taken some liberties with the artifact’s powers in reference with the Warehouse 13 descriptions and will continue to do so throughout the series.  
> Thanks again to warehouse13.wikia.com for the entire Warehouse trivia/artifact list.  
> You can follow me on tumblr for updates on when the second fic will be published (still in the process of being written at the moment)
> 
> Update : Episode 2 is coming out in August 2015

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! And thank you for kudos/comment, they bring me life and the motivation to keep writing this series :D
> 
> For updates on chapter releases and futur fics for this series, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://shamelessmash.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I will post the complete list of artefacts used and their links at the end of the fic because if I post it at the end of each chapter... you know, spoilers.
> 
> For updates on chapter releases and futur fics from this series, you can follow me on Tumblr @shamelessmash

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Endless Wonder Podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5461829) by [watsontastic (between_spaces)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/between_spaces/pseuds/watsontastic)
  * [[Cover Art] for Endless Wonder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13183881) by [IamJohnLocked4art (IamJohnLocked4life)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamJohnLocked4life/pseuds/IamJohnLocked4art)




End file.
